What Ends Well: Wherefore a Villain
by Surreptitious Chi X
Summary: Book 1. Unofficial sequel to Servant of the Shard. Artemis and Jarlaxle find themselves in the Shaar, east of Calimshan. Once leaving the mountain where they defeated the Crystal Shard, they embark on a new journey, becoming bounty hunters in the process.
1. The Transformation of a Killer

**Forward**

The Incredible Decision of Writing a Novel

Before we get started, I want to say some words about precisely what it is you have found here on the internet. Now, you may skip the Forward and go directly to the chapter one if you want to. But I thought it might be important for understanding what I have written, and deciding whether or not you want to actually read it.

R. A. Salvatore wrote a book called Servant of the Shard in 2000. It was the latest of a long line of stories which centered, as many of you know, around a character named Drizzt Do'Urden. Servant of the Shard was not the best book; it was not the brightest, not the most eloquently written, didn't have the best plot or the best characters. But it gripped me. In all of Salvatore's career, this book was my favorite. I finally bought it a few months ago at Half Price Books, after discovering that it had been lost when I and my family moved to a new home last year. When I read the dialogue, sometimes I could hear the characters speaking – see their faces, see what they saw, feel what they felt. It was a panoramic experience that left a deep impression on me. For the first time since beginning to read R. A. Salvatore's books, I loved Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle. For the first time, in Servant of the Shard, I was interested in them.

Salvatore eventually went back to these characters after writing a series of short stories published over the years, and he attempted to write two more books about them. Those books would be the recent and controversial Promise of the Witch King and Road of the Patriarch. In doing so, he lit a fuse in the fans' community. The majority feel that he wrote the books hastily, and that he should have taken more time on them. Some people were more disappointed than others, but it seems to me that everyone was disappointed on some level. Partly it was because he let us down – he wrote about people we liked, but he wrote too quickly, and without as much revising as he needed, which gives the latter two books of his newly formed The Sellswords trilogy (with Shard as its first book) a rushed, unbalanced feeling. Partly, it was because whether we knew it or not, we all made up stories about the parts of Artemis and Jarlaxle's lives that R. A. Salvatore didn't fill in.

That is why I wanted to go back and read Servant of the Shard again. I did, but what resulted in that rereading was more stories in my other series of novella-length pieces, starting with the story "Trying Too Hard". And I wrote those stories for months – I spent a lot of time on them. However, they were also for fun – I wouldn't say that I would go back and edit them, because I would be lying. Everything in them is rough draft – a jotting down of ideas that happens to be, in my opinion, marginally readable, so why not let the fanfiction community see it, right? Besides, maybe someone would get a laugh or an inspiration out of them.

Ah, but I'm skipping an important step. I didn't know I wanted to write Trying Too Hard until I read the speculative fanfiction of Ariel D, a wonderful author whom I'm sure everyone knows about, due to her prolific and popular trilogies. She seems nigh unstoppable, she's written so many (and I hope she writes them for a while longer). Reading everything she'd written in an all-night and all-morning binge gave me the heady feeling of inspiration I needed to begin writing fanfiction myself. You see, Artemis and Jarlaxle are the only two characters that beg to have stories written about them – other characters are too finished – their conclusions foregone – and that is what kept me from writing fanfiction before.

Anyway, that detour to the beginnings of my interest in fanfiction aside, there is a very specific way that I decided to write this novel. I decided that I would go back, read Servant of the Shard's epilogue, and build a story from there. I would pick up where Salvatore left off, using all the information he left me, and also use my wits.

This story you have here is based on a specific interpretation of Servant of the Shard, and in some places, it even contradicts Salvatore's interpretation of events. I have taken all of his dialogue, and all the actions of the characters, and stripped them of any of Salvatore's interpretive opinions. Then, based on my interpretations of that factual material, I added back in thoughts, meanings, gestures, and specific details that were never there in the original story Salvatore published.

I hope you enjoy this unofficial sequel to Servant of the Shard.

**Chapter 1**

The Transformation of a Killer

--------------------------------------------------------

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

Epilogue

_For days, Entreri and Jarlaxle wandered the region, at last happening upon a town where the folk had heard of Drizzt Do'Urden and seemed, at least, to accept the imposter Jarlaxle's presence. _

_In the nondescript and ramshackle little common house that served as a tavern, Artemis Entreri discovered a posting that he found, in light of his present situation, somewhat promising._

"_Bounty hunters?" Jarlaxle asked with surprise when Entreri presented the posting to him. The drow was sitting in a corner, sipping wine and with his back to the corner. "A call by the forces of justice for bounty hunters?"_

"_A call by someone," Entreri corrected, sliding into a chair across the table. "Whether it begets justice or not seems of little consequence."_

_Jarlaxle looked at him with a wry grin. "Does it?" he said, seeming less than convinced. "And what gain did you derive, then, from carrying Danica from the tunnels?"_

"_The gain of keeping a powerful priest from becoming an enemy," the pragmatic Entreri answered coldly. _

"_Or perhaps there was more," said Jarlaxle. "Perhaps Artemis Entreri had not the heart to let the woman die alone in the darkness."_

_Entreri shrugged as if it did not matter._

"_How many of Artemis Entreri's victims would be surprised?" Jarlaxle asked, pressing the point. _

"_How many of Artemis Entreri's victims deserved better than they found?" the assassin retorted._

_There it was, Jarlaxle knew, the justification for a life lived in the shadows. To a degree, the drow, who had survived among shadows darker than anything Entreri had ever known, couldn't rightfully disagree. Perhaps, in that context, there was more to the measure of Artemis Entreri. Still, the transformation of a killer to the side of justice seemed a curious and odd occurrence. _

"_Artemis the Compassionate?" he had to ask._

_Entreri sat perfectly still for a moment, digesting the words. "Perhaps," he said with a nod. "And perhaps if you keep saying foolish things, I will show you some compassion and kill you quickly. Then again, perhaps not."_

_Jarlaxle enjoyed a great laugh at that, at the absurdity of it all, of the newfound life that loomed before him. He understood Entreri well enough to take the man's threats seriously, but in truth, the dark elf trusted Entreri the same way he would trust one of his brothers. _

_However, Jarlaxle Baenre, the third son of Matron Baenre, one sacrificed to Lady Lolth by his mother and his siblings, knew better than to trust his own brother. _

* * *

Artemis began, "Out of curiosity, I wonder, my friend."

Jarlaxle turned to him as they walked. "I didn't know you had curiosity." The drow was completely straight-faced.

"I am curious about many things," Entreri said, and it seemed to Jarlaxle that he looked unusually subdued. There was a hint of an expression – a hint was usually all there was to be found on Artemis' face at any given time – that the dark elf interpreted as thoughtfulness. Then he uncharacteristically stopped speaking, and instead looked as if he was reflecting upon an unusual or new thought.

This gave Jarlaxle pause. Since when was Artemis apt to wonder about anything? The drow mercenary had wondered, when he had given Artemis the opportunity to view Menzoberranzan, if the assassin would learn anything at all. That he had come away with the slightest bit of what could be deemed a spiritual experience was amazing. Jarlaxle read people, and so the elf felt that Artemis' somber declaration that he had curiosity did not fit in with the terrain of Artemis' mind as Jarlaxle knew it. It was as though if Jarlaxle closed his eyes, he could _feel _what the assassin was thinking, and Artemis' behavior now was like finding a rough spot with his fingertips.

Artemis' attention abruptly returned to what he was saying, and once more, a grin appeared on his face. He rested a hand at his hip, and Jarlaxle glanced down to see the assassin's hand unintentionally resting on the ominous hilt of Charon's Claw. "Don't you think it was careless of you to decline Cadderly's passage back to The Spirit Soaring when you don't know where we are?"

Entreri looked around at the miles of waving grass spreading out in front of them in the distance. They were still walking on uneven, bare ground, interspersed with gigantic stones, surrounded by a mess of canyons and ravines. The day before, they'd fought a camp of goblins and then stolen the cave that the creatures had been using for shelter.

"Not that I expect you to care one way or another," the assassin said, kicking a loose stone and idly watching it tumble down the sloped trail. "After all, you keep harping on how there is a whole world to explore."

A grin spread across Jarlaxle's face as he rose to the challenge. "Why, of course I know where we are!" He dramatically whipped out a cloth map. Artemis stood close and looked on. It appeared to be a map of Faerun. He traced the familiar curves of the Calim Desert with his eyes, automatically gravitating to the inspection of his home country, Calimshan. From so far away, it was easy to forget all the bloodshed and every day ruination of livelihoods that took place there. After a moment, his attention became drawn to a pulsing symbol, bright and unpleasantly green.

Just as he noticed it, the dark elf mercenary pointed to it also, saying, "And here we are!" Jarlaxle smiled at him. "The Wyrmbones. You see? There in red ink."

"Your mapmaker should have used black," Artemis said. There was a glint in his gray eyes, and he looked at the drow slyly. "It's almost impossible to read when juxtaposed with that shade of brown they've painted the mountains."

Jarlaxle rolled up the map and playfully hit Artemis on the nose with it. "To the contrary," the dark elf said. "Drow can see the color red particularly well."

Artemis glared at him. He didn't appreciate having to put up the indignity of being slapped on the nose like some form of pet. However, he did get the response that he wanted. He didn't bother to ask how drow cartographers could possibly have created a map of Faerun, given that they didn't care to venture out during daylight. Jarlaxle would probably just say something infuriating and evasive. For all Entreri knew, Jarlaxle had taken the map somewhere and merely had it modified for easier reading. But the drow, and more specifically, Artemis suspected, Bregan D'aerthe, had had something to do with the appearance of this new map. Jarlaxle had to have contacted his band sometime between yesterday and today – Jarlaxle could not resist showing off magical gadgets, especially if they were useful. Artemis couldn't think of a more useful thing than knowing where they were at the moment.

Jarlaxle slid the map through a loop at his belt and tossed his cape over his shoulder confidently. "In four or five days, we should reach the city of Kormul." He looked at Artemis innocently. "We will find much there to our liking," the drow said. His gaze became speculative and openly domineering. A gust of wind caught the brim of his hat, causing it to billow unevenly.

Instead, however, Artemis turned away from him and became preoccupied with the landscape. "So that priest has brought us to the edge of The Shaar," Artemis murmured. The wind that blew at him from his right was tinged with dust, and he braced himself against it, his nostrils temporarily clogged with the dry smell of sour soil. The huge plain that loomed below him he now knew was The Shaar. He had heard things about it, but not very much; he understood it to be a green and arid version of the far northern plains his rival, Drizzt, had so favored. A largely unsettled area home to nomads which gathered in tribes, frequently meeting, usually not in peace. He wondered if there was some sort of a council, and if it should prove to be made of men or women. He could not recall what form of government the area favored, and which organizations had power.

Artemis began to put the shapes he saw in context; the brown line moving across the plains was in actuality a road. He turned to his left, following it across his vision, and quickly realized when he oriented himself that he was now pointed west; the direction that he would go in order to get home.

He froze. He experienced a crawling sensation throughout his body similar to being submerged up to his neck in molasses that could only be mortification. _Home?_ _What made me think that?_ He forcibly tried to move his thoughts away from images of shifting dunes, Dwahvel's warm brown eyes, and the Copper Ante. _Calimport is not home_, he told himself sternly. _It is where I make my living. Nothing more. And not that any more._

He looked around, his expression hardening in determination. This was where he was now making his living. He was distancing himself from Calimport forever. It was better this way. He would face danger to go back; insane suspicion at his motives; a political background in turmoil thanks to Artemis and his questionable friends, the rogue drow; a life of killing and being killed.

Artemis was surprised and nearly paralyzed at finding the emotion of loathing attached to the thought of returning to his job of killing people. He thought of the hatred he had felt for years, the force behind his dagger's killing stabs. Now that he was no longer facing a life in Calimport, Artemis saw that there could be a connection between death and the hatred he had always felt.

That conjured up an almost forgotten memory of his life on the streets, and a lingering sense of displacement; as though he had been somehow misplaced. As though he hadn't meant to do those things, or live that life. That he was wrong, somehow. As he thought about it, he couldn't place it.

Jarlaxle stopped and narrowed his eyes at the man, looking at him with an undisguised note of confusion. The assassin had ignored Jarlaxle's purposefully leading comment about finding something of interest in Kormul. "We may find a great many opportunities in Kormul," he ventured. "Perhaps we will find a niche there."

"Why is it that Jarlaxle craves a niche? Was not Calimport enough for him?" Artemis said acidly. His temper flared into a sudden, frustrated rage at having his thoughts interrupted before he could make sense of his broken memory. Noting that he should not react so strongly, he reined his emotions in before he did something he would honestly regret. His self-control slammed a lid on it that kept it back down a ways and let it simmer at angry irritation.

"It is true that I failed…" Jarlaxle began.

"Miserably."

"Even as you say," the brightly dressed drow said, raising an index finger, "it is not the end of everything…"

The assassin's stare increased a tenfold. "It almost was, you _fool_. You could have lost everything." He couldn't believe that what happened could have so little an effect on Jarlaxle. "Are you made of rubber? If one tries to kill you by throwing you off a cliff, do you merely _bounce_ when you hit bottom?"

"No," Jarlaxle said, smiling cheerfully, "I levitate. I am drow." He deliberately changed the subject back to what they were talking about. "The fact remains that I was not in error."

Artemis stared, both at his persistent and at the absurdity of Jarlaxle's claim.

"In the end, it was the crystal shard that ruined everything for me," Jarlaxle said. "I would never have acted the way I did if it had not been for the meddling crystal." He beamed at Artemis. "You yourself should agree with me! Truly! How different I was when I was under the notorious thing's spell!"

Artemis said, "How did you get that way?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression scathing. "Do you recall picking up the crystal and inviting it to take over your mind in the name of partnership as entrepreneurs?"

Jarlaxle froze comically, his hand still pointing in the air and one foot upraised. He blinked. "Well, I…" He unfroze and looked at Artemis, oblivious. "That is a different matter."

"You erred in the first place!" Artemis said. "You can't pretend that you came out of this unscathed! Your miscalculation almost caused the collapse of my entire city!"

The drow, instead of reacting with serious thought as Artemis may have liked, instead gave Artemis a knowing, sly look. "And what would Artemis Entreri have done if I had caused the destruction of Calimport, as you say?" He placed a hand on his hip and smiled at the assassin. Suddenly he seemed like a dangerous person, a feral quality to his smile and a wild, almost unbalanced light to his crimson eye. "Danced on the ashes of that miserable collection of houses that so mistreated Artemis in his youth?"

Artemis looked at him incredulously. "Now wait a minute."

Jarlaxle's odd mood seemed to evaporate as if it never had been. "What?" he said, once more the innocent, reckless mercenary. "Are you saying that there is something about Calimport you _like_, my friend? You always scowled about at everything as if you'd eaten a cart of bad fruit. I'd thought you hated it there. You needed a change of pace."

"So you arranged to be possessed by a demented crystal to ensure me a change of pace?" Artemis asked sarcastically.

Jarlaxle bowed, sweeping his plumed hat off his head, head coming within a foot of the rocky ground. "I'm pleased to be at your service, as always. Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe always delivers."

The assassin snorted. "You didn't even _want_ to come to these dragon infested mountains," Artemis said, looking at Jarlaxle, amused.

Jarlaxle laughed and shrugged. "And what do I know? They're beautiful."

"Again with the 'beautiful'," Artemis muttered.

"But of course," Jarlaxle said, a grin splitting his face. He quite deliberately opened his arms wide and said, glancing at Artemis with the glee of anticipation, "Everything is beautiful."

"I'll throw you off this mountain," Artemis said, "the next time you use the word 'beautiful'."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I'll bounce."

Artemis looked at Jarlaxle speculatively, then cracked his knuckles. "Or levitate?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle said, his eye twinkling.

Artemis looked around at the rock-littered landscape. "Try levitating with a boulder tied to your ass."

Jarlaxle laughed, unrestrained, and then hopped out of Artemis' reach, alighting on a flat slab of rock. "You'll have to catch me first!" he cried, and began running away.

"What are we, children?" Artemis muttered. The soil ground under his boots as he ran, giving pursuit, if only to make sure that the drow didn't gather a horde of enemies, or make a wrong step and break his stupid neck.

Artemis looked around quickly for the mercenary as he sprinted down the path, avoiding treacherous dips and rocky outcroppings that he could sprain an ankle on. He caught a flash of color-changing cape and bright red feather. Artemis didn't have to track Jarlaxle; all he had to do was follow his companion's mad cackling.

"Jarlaxle, you idiot," Entreri said. He had to ask himself why he was even bothering to follow Jarlaxle in the first place. If the drow were anyone else, he'd have crossed his arms, sat down on the ground, and waited for Jarlaxle to come back and stop this puerile behavior.

Then the drow's laughter abruptly stopped. For a moment, Artemis became wildly afraid that something both improbable and typically dangerous had happened to Jarlaxle, but then he heard Jarlaxle shout, "Artemis! Come look at this!" There was a note of surprise in Jarlaxle's shout, but Artemis doubted that the drow mercenary would have shouted so if there had been any real danger.

What Artemis saw as he rounded the bent around to the left in the path was that Jarlaxle was standing on a cliff side looking directly down at the fields below. What he saw there was a stream of wagons with canvas roofs moving through the plains. The assassin squinted. In the distance was a thumb sized brown landmark. He could barely make out wisps of smoke.

"Civilization!" the drow mercenary yelled. One ebony hand was unconsciously clutching at a round bottle of pink crystal hanging from the right side of his belt as he excitedly strained forward, leaning precariously off the edge of cliff in a way that would have made Artemis' heart stop. His companion's face was split, lit up with a dazzling white grin. "After all this time of braving the mountains, before us lies a land of opportunity!" Jarlaxle said.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "It's only been two days."

"Two days of hardship and treachery!" Jarlaxle said.

"We beat the goblins to a pulp without breaking a sweat and then stole their provisions," the assassin contradicted.

"Precisely!" the drow said, taking out a piece of rough, brown jerky. "Hardship! Misery and woe! Not even an identification spell could disperse the shadow of the unknown from this remarkable food. Where the goblins failed to conquer me, this has." Jarlaxle sniffed it. "What strange beast this is, it is powerful even in death. I cannot imagine what it could have been in life. Is it venison? Is it rat?" He lifted his hat and scratched his bald head. "No, it's too big to be a rat." He made a show of studying it from all angles.

"It could be a giant rat," Artemis said.

"Surely they have food," Jarlaxle said, looking once again at the caravans stretched out below.

Artemis looked at the view again tolerantly and placed his hands on his hips. "How do you propose to join them?" he asked. They reminded Artemis of some canvas-backed snake slithering across the bright green grasslands.

"Why, by jumping the distance!" Jarlaxle said. He examined the drop as if measuring it with his eyes and turned to the assassin, saying, "My magic will surely carry two. It has been done before, by many. There will be no danger at all." He thought for a moment. "Unless of course you let go." The drow gazed at Artemis with an innocent expression. "You won't do that, will you? I know that eating questionable cheese for so long has stolen your will to live, but there's no telling what cuisine might await us down there, where the people are hopefully more merciful." Jarlaxle regarded the chunk of dried meat and frowned, murmuring, "Is it goat?"

The assassin hated how Jarlaxle could slip in an offhand comment and then gloss over it as if he hadn't made the reference. The drow had bored Entreri so much that in four hours, Artemis had begun drinking out of his hidden flask of whiskey to keep from having to listen to Jarlaxle shoving information into his brain. The same day that he and Artemis had moved into the goblins' cave was the same day that Jarlaxle had deemed him fit to learn the difference between several different kinds of cheese, how important cheese was to the drow economy, and how Artemis should learn to truly appreciate cheese and stop eating low quality cheese that the assassin was, always had been, and was still particularly fond of. He had tried to end the conversation several times by saying, 'I don't care'. It hadn't even made a dent.

"No, I've seen goat before," Artemis said, instead of pointing out that he hated heights with a white-knuckled, hyperventilating passion, and that he would rather carve off Jarlaxle's head than allow his life to rest in the mercenary's hands. He resisted the urge to back away from the edge of the cliff. "And besides, I spoke of the difficulty of convincing whatever folk lie down there not to skewer _you _and see if drow are good with supper."

Jarlaxle sniffed indignantly. "They would never," he said. He put his hands on his hips. "Everyone knows that drow are poisonous."

Entreri stopped, and gave Jarlaxle a long stare.

He couldn't help but think of how strangely the drow had been acting lately. His companion's irritating behavior at the moment was reminding him why he hadn't wanted to be Jarlaxle's partner in the first place.

_If you really didn't want to be his partner_, the assassin told himself, _you should have let him die when it was easiest to dispose of him. You're stuck with him now._ Artemis sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, seriously trying to think of any way to avoid Jarlaxle's idea to plunge off the side of the mountain. _That ought to teach me not to extend any more hands of mercy any time soon. The next time a paladin points out the joys of helping others, I'll give Jarlaxle to him. That ought to change his mind. If he's not begging for mercy from his god within a day, then he has no soul, and he and Jarlaxle deserve each other. _

"Perhaps by eating you I will develop an immunity," Artemis said. "If so I would gladly sacrifice you in order to strip the flesh from Kimmuriel's bones and eat him myself."

The drow laughed. Jarlaxle regarded him with raised eyebrows and asked, "You still hold ill feelings towards my poor Kimmuriel? Come, at least he has not tried to kill you."

"Openly," Artemis said. He glared. "Who knows how many times he's tried to do the deed while your back was turned?"

Jarlaxle's expression became serious. "I think you've misspoken, my friend. You should know that Kimmuriel would never do anything to anger me as much as killing you would."

The assassin stopped for a moment and rocked back on his heels, considering Jarlaxle through narrowed eyes. The drow had said something that Artemis had never expected anyone to say about him, and certainly not to his face, so boldly. He tried to process this, but things kept getting in the way. Why would Jarlaxle say that? Why would he do it at such a time as this? What could he possibly gain?

_The only thing I can think of is that he doesn't realize what he has said_, Artemis thought. _It could be an unconscious slip. _He tried to think of other times when he had witnessed Jarlaxle saying something offhandedly without realizing the deeply personal secret he was sharing. He couldn't help thinking that if he had, he wouldn't have known it at the time, because it was difficult to know what Jarlaxle was thinking, and what he was pretending to think in order to keep people from figuring out what he was really thinking.

When he was unable to decipher the exact circumstances surrounding Jarlaxle's statement, he returned to the fact that it made him feel profoundly. Artemis was touched by the admission that the drow mercenary actually cared what would happen after he died enough to turn his wrath against his lieutenant. Artemis filed that away for later before thinking about it too much threatened to overwhelm him.

The assassin was quiet for a moment longer. Then Artemis spoke. "Well, are we going to make our entrance into the lives of some unsuspecting merchants, or are we going to wait for the mountains to sink back into the ground?"

Jarlaxle smiled at him, and he only widened his smile into his customary grin when he saw that his knowing expression was making Artemis uncomfortable. "Yes, let's," he said.

"Yes let's what?" Artemis asked, hoping Jarlaxle meant letting the mountains sink back into the ground.

Jarlaxle waved him over with a hand. "Come on. My magic won't work if you're standing that far away."

The assassin warily crept closer, scowling at Jarlaxle as if he were expecting the drow to shove him over the edge and then run away cackling.

"Come on, closer," Jarlaxle said. He pouted and waved an index finger admonishingly. "I won't start unless you're ready."

Entreri heaved a sigh, and then came within arm's reach. "Are we ready yet?"

The drow said, looking at Artemis as if he ought to know already, "You must get closer. Drow levitation magic has a very short range."

The assassin came still closer, walking up to Jarlaxle until he was almost beside the drow on the edge of the precipice. Artemis stiffened up just thinking about it. In spite of himself, his mouth was rapidly running dry. "Are we ready yet?"

Jarlaxle scooted slightly closer to him. They were almost touching. The drow's expression became businesslike. "Alright." The look in his visible eye was distant; as though he were concentrating on something that he couldn't see. "It should be…"

Artemis waited, and was taken completely by surprise when Jarlaxle grabbed him around the waist and fell over the edge of the cliff in one smooth motion, taking Artemis with him.

Each thing that happened next happened in slow motion to him.

He saw the bright green ground slide into view far below him.

He felt his feet leaving the ground they had stood on.

He felt his body impact with Jarlaxle's. His hands slid against bare black skin until he felt the sturdy leather of Jarlaxle's vest. His fingers curled numbly around the flap of a pocket, and a loose leather strap hanging from the side. His arm was hooked, captured, around Jarlaxle's neck, and he couldn't get it loose, and he couldn't remember how it had gotten there. His other arm was crushed between them.

He heard his breathing too loudly in his ears, and a heartbeat like a metronome measured out the time as he looked down past Jarlaxle's body.

One.

Two.

Three.

He was actually falling.

Artemis screamed.

"_To the nine hells with ye," the grizzled old bartender said, the curse growling in his throat. _Artemis thought it a strange time to remember it. The memory appeared before his eyes, ghostly. The nine hells…?

_Entreri looked to Jarlaxle. He shrugged, entirely seriously, and said, "I have already been there."_ The expression on his face was composed – the matter-of-fact face of a child telling something he knows, Artemis thought. _The drow said, "Hardly worth a return visit." He took the glass and the bottle from the counter where they sat and walked away. Artemis watched him for a moment, and then followed._

The memories came upon him in a visitation of jumbled images, sounds, and tastes, one after the other.

As clearly as if he were transported back in time, he was transported back to that first moment when he faced the crystal shard and held its energy in his hand, deflecting it with his gauntlet to save his own life.

_How powerful was that item? _

_He smelled his hand burning. His skin flaked and curled under the gauntlet. The energy, a hard, hot ball, slid from his hand. He shut his eyes against the blinding light and threw it as it left his fingertips, tossing it away from the black-skinned mercenary, gritting his teeth. A small cry escaped from his lips. Artemis smelled smoke. _

_An explosion rocked the room, almost sending him to his knees. The sound was deafening. The assassin opened his eyes, and saw Jarlaxle cringing, his eyes squeezed shut and one hand curled in a fist in front of his face, as if he might cough. His expression was unconsciously that of terror._

_Artemis' resolve renewed itself._

Artemis opened his eyes, not realizing that he had shut them. The ground was at an odd angle in relation to his and Jarlaxle's intertwined bodies. They were tumbling. The ground was an odd flash of color, and it overwhelmed him again. He briefly imagined vomiting midair and decided that just in case he did live, he didn't want to live covered in his own vomit until they found a body of water sufficient to bathe in.

And then suddenly he was reliving the moment when he saw Kimmuriel's glowing portal to the Underdark close without a seam, without the drow's presence Artemis felt standing beside him.

_Artemis turned to the person he had come to know; the dark elf's appearance, his wise red eyes, black-skinned, scantily clad body, whip-like with agility and impossibly thin. And it suddenly seemed strange to him that he could come to know such a person at all. "Why?" he said._

_Jarlaxle seemed to mock him. "'Why'?"_

_But Artemis wouldn't hear it. "Why didn't you go with them? Why did you refuse to leave me here? You could have gone back, you could have taken back your mercenary band. You could have…Why would you give up something like that, just to remain on the surface with me?" Me, Artemis thought. Why would you choose to be with me? The assassin trailed off, speechless. Artemis said, "Why would you choose such a thing?"_

_A smile quirked on Jarlaxle's lips. He shrugged, and as he turned away, he said, "Perhaps I hate drow more than I hate humans."_

Artemis didn't know what was happening. For a moment, he felt himself falling, and then he felt a final, gargantuan impact with the ground, as if it had just reached up and stopped him. His head rushed with dizziness. Sharpness and clarity suddenly came back. For the first time, he realized that he had his arms around Jarlaxle in a crushing embrace. His heart beat rapidly. Artemis stared at Jarlaxle, agape, his body paralyzed in its death grip on the drow.

They were on the ground, Artemis thought. They were on the ground. They were actually on the ground. "You almost killed me," Artemis said, with a perfectly calm demeanor. Then he let go of Jarlaxle and tumbled to the ground.

Jarlaxle bent over him, disbelief warring with mirth. "It wasn't that bad. Besides, the way you were crushing me, there was no chance of you falling to your doom." The elf fanned his face. "Actually, I'm blushing," Jarlaxle said. He turned away and beamed, holding a hand to his cheek. "Why, Artemis, I didn't know you were so interested. To think, sharing that tent together when we were running from the Dallabad Oasis, and I didn't have a clue!" He shrugged innocently.

Behind the drow mercenary, Artemis was getting to his feet, angrily scowling, storm clouds gathering on his face.

Jarlaxle placed a hand on his chest and gestured poetically with his other hand. "Why, I didn't know you were so inclined. Perhaps I should have asked you for companionship in bed instead of Vespers." He grinned slyly.

Artemis made a grab for his shoulder, which Jarlaxle neatly dodged without missing a step. The dark elf turned around on his own locomotion and regarded the assassin with an innocent face. "Yes?" Jarlaxle asked.

Entreri's face was flushed deep red. "If you ever," he snarled, "_ever_ make such propositions again I will force your heart out through your stomach." In his own mind, he knew he was being irrationally emotional, but he was too thrown off by how deeply offended he was to keep his composure. Jarlaxle had just pushed him off a cliff without his permission and then saw fit to make jokes about Artemis' near death experience. He felt tears burning behind his eyes. Actual tears. He automatically hated anyone who could do that to him. He lashed out and succeeded in shoving Jarlaxle in the chest.

The dark elf stumbled backward, his expression of amusement frozen on his face. Jarlaxle's demeanor was quickly replaced by a wariness bordering on coldness. Then he shook his head, and a shiver passed through his body, leaving only a touch of confusion. In the wake of this reaction was his smile, which was rapidly returning. "I think you're overreacting –"

"I will hunt you down and beat you to death with my bare fists if I have to keep you from touching me," Artemis said. He was clenching his hand so hard that his fist was trembling. He knew he didn't even make sense any more. He was frustrated by the fact that as always, nothing made an impression on Jarlaxle for long. Even at the height of his hostility for Jarlaxle, here the drow was, laughing it up, and brushing off Artemis' feelings in order to do it.

"Should I start running?" Jarlaxle asked, raising an eyebrow at him airily.

The thing that made Artemis feel violated the most wasn't that Jarlaxle had suggested that he should have taken Artemis to bed with him instead of Sharlotta, but that when he thought he was going to die, all he could think about were memories of Jarlaxle. All that was running through his mind was, 'How could this happen? I trusted you.' 'Trust?' he wanted to scream in the fact of that thought.

"How could you do that to me?" the assassin demanded instead. His voice came out husky and breathless, pushed beyond all semblance of a shout until it was hushed with pain.

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes at Artemis argumentatively. "You are supernaturally opposed to doing things the easiest way. We could have spent all week merely hiking down the mountain!" He gestured to the monolithic peak now behind them. "If you reach a brick wall, you pound your way through it instead of searching for a door!"

"Whereas," Artemis suggested, staring at the elf coldly, "Jarlaxle decides to _make_ a door, instead of waiting for someone to allow him entry past the wall."

The drow mercenary rocked back on his heels. He unpleasantly found all sorts of shades of meaning in that one statement. Jarlaxle looked at him uneasily. 'Instead of waiting for someone to allow him entry past the wall'? That was an accusation, and Artemis was looking at him in a way that the elf had hoped Artemis would never look at him again.

_Have I encroached upon your territory so uninvitedly?_ Jarlaxle asked silently. _Surely you don't actually wish to be alone for the rest of your life._

Jarlaxle said, "Is it so unnatural to assume that you and I could easily surmount whatever challenges we face, so long as we are together?" Artemis didn't say anything, leaving him alone, standing there with his mouth open. His normally leading question had gotten no response whatsoever.

He backtracked in his plans to the point of bending over backwards, which was the nearest thing he could come to making an apology. "I naturally assumed that we should seek out the nearest city. Artemis Entreri would not be comfortable walking through the wilderness forever." Jarlaxle was scanning Artemis with his eyes as he spoke, searching for indications that he was being listened to. Artemis just stood there. "I merely…formed a theory that since he chooses the city of Calimport over the forests and mountains of Tethyr, he must be more comfortable in the twisted depths of a metropolis than the…unsettled realms." The dark elf paused uncertainly, Artemis' scrutiny beginning to rob him of his words. His tongue was uncustomarily held back by the feeling that he was walking delicately to let sleeping dragons lie.

Artemis snorted, an edgy, noncommittal sound that didn't convey his thoughts. He looked at the ground. "I have no desire to see the interior of a city ever again."

This put Jarlaxle a further step back. He didn't quite know what to say to get Artemis around this obstacle. When the drow had been traveling with Artemis to dispose of the crystal shard, he had awoken to the exciting scent of an opportunity being wafted under his nose he had hardly ever dared to dream of. This was his chance, to become not merely a figure of infamy, but to break through to the highly regarded ranks of the sanctimonious! He, Jarlaxle, could be hailed as Hero! He could finally become that icon which cancelled out his dark heritage, which would finally set him on the road apart from his kin, an entire land full of people that he honestly had no desire to see again! Besides the few people he trusted to back him up in his organization, like the enigmatic Kimmuriel, an elf that Jarlaxle understood far better than most by virtue of the fact that it was himself who had rescued Kimmuriel from the jaws of fate.

The elven mercenary quickly revised his plans in his head. Perhaps this wasn't a set-back, but an unexpected development in a different direction. An opportunity. For what yet he didn't know. The word made him smile. Whenever he was particularly declined to sink to the depths of sadness, he reminded himself of the word 'opportunity'.

"Alright," Jarlaxle said, trying out a smile. Artemis didn't react negatively, which soothed the mercenary's self-confidence. "Then we don't have to end our expedition in Kormul." He looked around, and gestured at the waving plains of grass that stretched out endlessly in every direction. "After all, this seems to be a fairly large land."

Artemis took a deep breath and tried to steady his emotions. Still, he looked at the brightly-garbed drow mercenary with a burning stare. "One that may appear far smaller with due time."

Jarlaxle winced, but decided that he'd said all he'd been allowed to for the time being. His companion's decision to let him recover some of his dignity and standing in Entreri's eyes, Artemis seemed to be saying to him, was far better than a person like Jarlaxle deserved, but that the assassin was going to do it anyway, and so the drow mercenary had better be grateful. Jarlaxle hesitated, then offered, "That one might find it cozier…after a while, places seem to shrink to conform to the people in it."

The look on Artemis' face became strange. He stared at Jarlaxle. "This is no Calimport." He turned away, and began walking through the waist-high grass, brushing it aside. He looked for any natural parts in the grass, due to frequent travel, and then said, only half-turning his head to look over his shoulder, "Be careful. There may well be ticks in such thick grass."

Jarlaxle automatically clapped his hands to his bare arms. He looked around shiftily, suddenly aware of every movement in the tall grass. "Did you say tricks?"

"Ticks," Artemis said firmly.

Jarlaxle rummaged through his series of wands and potions, muttering to himself. "Ticks. I hate ticks. I hate bugs. I hate flies, I hate worms, I hate ants."

"How about spiders?" the assassin asked, giving Jarlaxle an innocent gaze.

The drow mercenary offered him a sickly smile. "Now that would be blasphemy." He returned to his rummaging.

Artemis shook his head, amused despite himself, for now, letting the harmful atmosphere between them be defused. "To find the road," he said, to alert Jarlaxle to the fact that he wasn't going to stand here and wait patiently forever. "Where the road leads, there will be people. Presumably. Since, after all, a road has to get here somehow."

Jarlaxle nodded without looking up, and began to search through the contents of his floppy purple hat.

After about five more minutes of being subjected to this, the assassin rolled his eyes, sighed, and grabbed Jarlaxle's arm to stop him. Jarlaxle looked up at him. "You had no sympathy for my phobias," Artemis said. "You'll just have to get over yours." He pulled Jarlaxle towards the billowing waves of sun-bleached grass.

Jarlaxle stopped, and stared. He seemed to shrink in on himself, drawing his arms close to his chest, huddling. "That's a lot of grass."

"Your beautiful realm of opportunity isn't so beautiful now, is it?" The assassin smirked.

"Is it too late to go back to Calimport?" Jarlaxle asked. He looked around as if expecting a shimmering portal to open up and reveal the bustling streets of the desert city.

"There's no turning back now," Artemis said.


	2. Quests

**Chapter 2**

Quests

--------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_"I am sworn to destroy it," Cadderly argued. _

_"I have heard such words before," Entreri replied. "Thus far, I am the only one who has been able to ignore the temptation of the artifact, and therefore, it remains with me until it is destroyed." He felt an inner twinge at that, a combination of a plea, a threat, and the purest rage he had ever known, all emanating from the imprisoned Crystal Shard._

_Danica scoffed as if his claim was purely preposterous, but Cadderly held her in check._

_"There is no need for such heroics from you," the priest assured Entreri. "You do not need to do this."_

_"I do," Entreri replied, though when he looked to Jarlaxle, it seemed to him as if his drow companion was siding with Cadderly._

_Entreri could certainly see that point of view. Powerful enemies pursued them, and the Crystal Shard itself was not likely to be destroyed without a terrific battle. Still, Entreri knew in his heart that he had to see this through. He hated the artifact profoundly. He needed to see this controlling, awful item be utterly obliterated. He didn't know why he felt so strongly, but he did, plain and simple, and he wasn't giving over the artifact, not to Cadderly or to Danica, not to Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, not to anyone while he still had breath left in his body. _

(306, 307, paperback edition, 2001)

"Any bugs in there?" the assassin called.

Jarlaxle gave a start, then looked behind him at the amused demeanor of his friend. "No, thank you for asking. I think they all died from heat exhaustion."

They tramped together through the grassland, setting the course as best they could for the north east. The tall, thick grass hid the actual terrain from their view, but as they quickly found, the tall grass didn't carpet the ground. It grew in patches, hiding areas of short grass and flowers, areas where the grass disintegrated into sandy soil, and patches of rocks.

Jarlaxle took out his map again as they walked.

Artemis watched his companion with curiosity, taking a swig of his water from its canteen and looking over the drow mercenary's shoulder. "I should think you would be grateful," he said, after swallowing. "It's actually cool today. The temperature hasn't even reached Calimport during the winter yet."

"I hardly think it a good measure for the weather to compare some place to Calimshan," Jarlaxle said. "I feel like a cracker baking in an oven. I think my map is blackening around the edges."

Artemis snorted. "We're fine. What does that map of yours say?" Since Jarlaxle didn't seem to be paying any attention to where they were, anymore, he reached ahead and parted the beginning of another long patch of grass before them.

"My map says that we may as well pass through Kormul, if we're going to the Eastern Shaar." Jarlaxle winced as the stiff grass snapped back against his bare skin.

"Are we?" Artemis asked. He looked around. "If the Eastern half looks anything like it does around here, why should we bother?"

To tell the truth, Artemis rather liked the scenery. There were no obstructions to his view, no smoky and smelly cities, few trees, greatly in the distance, and besides the distant, roiling mass of creatures traveling across the plains, there was no one else here to bother him.

"Then where would you like to go?" Jarlaxle asked, folding up his map and returning it to a pocket on the inside of his vest.

The assassin shrugged. "I like it here."

Jarlaxle scowled.

Artemis bit back an amused chuckle at seeing such an expression contort the normally cheerful drow's features. That, and somehow it seemed particularly unfitting on Jarlaxle's face. He had a small, upturned nose and thin, finely sculpted lips that seemed to curl up at the edges as if that was the way they were made. A scowl only made him look like a child instead of truly expressing animosity.

"You can go back to that hole in the ground you call a city, and I can send you a painting when I reach the other side of this never-ending grassland, how's that?" Artemis said. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "It'll have me, standing next to one of those stunted trees I see in the distance, smiling. One hand will be raised into the air, caught in a wave for the rest of eternity." He grinned. "You can hang it above the desk in your office."

The mercenary sniffed and crossed his arms. "I'll never give up now. To let an army of grass conquer me after surviving life with an insane goddess and her cult would be preposterous!"

Entreri shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They passed by a shallow, marshy body of water, which contained a few frogs soaking their bodies in the meager pool it provided. Artemis thought that they must be in the midst of the Shaar's rainy season. After all, he saw that the grass was mostly green, and he'd heard somewhere that frogs in the Shaar burrowed under mud and hibernated away the seasons when there wasn't enough water to support them.

"If we don't catch up to a caravan soon," Jarlaxle said, "we'll be forced to forage. I hope you know how to hunt out here."

Artemis merely shrugged. "I'll think of something." He soon fell silent, absorbed in his sight seeing. He'd been to the far north, but never this far east. Though the Shaar was so close by comparison, he had never thought to travel outside of Calimshan's borders just for the purpose of satisfying his curiosity, and he had to admit to himself that previously to meeting Jarlaxle, he hadn't had any.

Jarlaxle glanced at his companion dubiously, an eyebrow cocked. He had no idea why Artemis had acted so strangely when they descended from the cliffs to the grasslands, and he had the feeling that he had missed something important. After all, Artemis usually laughed off one of Jarlaxle's petty tricks with banter about revenge and sticking his dagger into Jarlaxle's flesh, and so forth.

Jarlaxle was surprised when Artemis suddenly reached out to grab his arm.

The assassin stopped his companion and looked into Jarlaxle's eyes, directly, demanding an answer. "Did you mean what you said about Kimmuriel?"

"I mean everything I say about Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle said, gesturing offhandedly. "What is it you want to know about?"

He took this opportunity to find another nearby clearing in the tall grass, and sat down in a field of soft clover. Then he sighed, lifted up his plumed hat, and drew something out of it that looked like a folded wooden fan. Jarlaxle settled his hat back on his head, and opened up the device. Artemis saw that it was, in fact, a wooden fan.

"When you said that you would be displeased to find that Kimmuriel had disposed of me while you were appreciating the bouquet of a fine wine, only to return with my bleeding corpse as a welcome mat," Artemis said. He tried to look at the drow eye to eye, and found himself having to sit down as well.

"My, you seem to have thought about this before," Jarlaxle said. He flapped the fan at his face, and seemed to find some temporary comfort from the small wind that created.

Artemis' expression turned stony. He sharpened his stare into a glare.

Jarlaxle mentally rolled his eyes, and then smiled at his partner, his expression softening. "Of course I did." He looked directly into Artemis' eyes. "I might not have been able to say it, but I have noticed whenever you tried to defend me from oncoming opposition. You tried to bully everyone around us wherever we went for the entire journey to the Snowflake Mountains. I have noticed that every time we found lodging and a hospitable meal, it was only because you were there to stand up for me and vouch for my innocence." He placed his hand on Artemis' shoulder. "And I did notice how it offends you every time someone tries to lay a hand on me in anger or in prejudice."

Artemis, for a split second, looked confused. Then he just stared blankly at the obsidian hand resting on his shoulder.

Jarlaxle smiled. _This is perhaps why he was acting so strangely_, the mercenary thought. "I did appreciate it. Thank you for saving me from the crystal shard."

Artemis swallowed and felt a constriction in his throat, trying to cinch it shut. He felt cold and warm spots all over his body. "We better get going. If you think it's hot now, you won't want to be here by the time it gets to be mid-afternoon." He brushed Jarlaxle's hand off, stood up, and then offered his hand.

Jarlaxle stayed sitting for a moment, looking at Artemis hard, trying to decipher his mixed messages. Then he clasped Artemis' hand, and let the assassin help him to his feet, though he hardly thought the assistance was necessary.

There was an uneasy silence between them, or so it felt to the mercenary. However, Jarlaxle realized he had to take his suspicions about the character of the silence with a grain of salt, since to him, all silences were bad and to be avoided.

He tried, therefore, to respect Entreri's need for this brand of peace, and contented himself by using his fan to alleviate the worst of the growing heat.

"I have heard tell of a place called Lake Lhespen," Jarlaxle said as they continued on their way, sometime later when he could no longer enforce his self-imposed sign of consideration. As he absently looked up, he saw that the grasses were perhaps thinning as they traveled the direction they were going, and patches of dry, sandy ground appeared more often underfoot.

He unrolled his map, running his finger along the painted cloth until he found the large body of water. "East of here, in the direction we're currently traveling. It should be right on our way." He favored Artemis with a dazzling smile.

Artemis immediately got a bad feeling.

"It's surrounded by fishing villages, who eke out an existence against the recent insurgence of sahaugin and yuan-ti who seem to have decided that there is something in the lake they want," Jarlaxle explained, happily gesticulating.

The assassin sighed. "And I suppose we are going to look for whatever they're interested in and see if we can find it first?"

"Of course not," Jarlaxle said. "That would be silly." He put on an innocent expression and batted his eyelashes. "I would never put us in undue danger." He paused dramatically and tapped his lower lip with an index finger. "Of course, if there is profit involved…"

Artemis groaned, "I get it. Jarlaxle is a profit magnet. He goes directly to the source of the most money, no matter what or who happens to be in the way."

"You make me sound so heartless."

They came to a clearing, where the grass seemed to drop off profoundly, shriveling into the ground without leaving a trace except for tiny, withered roots. Colorless white sand shifted underneath Artemis' feet as he stepped out into the desert-like region, and he saw that there were gnarled shrubs and bulbous, waxy, cacti scattered throughout the flat landscape.

Then he paused, and raised his arm so that Jarlaxle wouldn't walk past him. He put a finger to his lips and nodded his head towards the source of his caution.

There, in the middle of the clearing, was another person. About twenty feet away, a man knelt in front of a cactus, harvesting its water. He wore a cape made out of an animal's skin, and his hair was long and brown, woven into dreadlocks and braids decorated with bright stone beads. He didn't seem to notice them. Artemis judged that the skin on the man's face wasn't weathered or lined, making him a very young man, perhaps as young as seventeen years old.

The assassin motioned to Jarlaxle in Drow. _Approach him slowly. Let's startle him before he has a chance to attack, not after._

_You wouldn't want me sneaking up on him, then? _Jarlaxle answered with an innocent expression, but the motions of his fingers had a little flip to them, assigning them a laughing tone. At Artemis' answering scowl, he said, _Oh, don't be such a grouch. I'm following your orders. _

Artemis put on a disarming smile and scuffed his boot against a stone, sheepishly shrugging when he immediately drew the gaze of the young stranger. "Hello," he said.

The tribal looking man looked up at him curiously. "Hanaké lo lué Dambrath?"

Artemis and Jarlaxle looked at each other.

Artemis increased his friendly smile tenfold and slowly placed a hand on his chest. "Ardemis," he said, enunciating deliberately and clearly.

Jarlaxle blinked.

Artemis grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward. "Dominiké," the assassin said. He patted Jarlaxle on the chest encouragingly and nodded at the strange man. "Jarlaxle."

_What? _Jarlaxle gestured at him, looking confused, and trying not to be alarmed by the grin that appeared on their stranger's face.

_Ally, _Artemis signed back. _Now shut up. _

Jarlaxle began covertly rummaging through the pockets on his belt for his translating whistle.

The man in the animal skin cape let out what sounded like a little chattering laugh and said, "Ca-leem-shahn."

Artemis looked at Jarlaxle again. Calimshan. He turned to the stranger with a bright smile. "Yes."

"Umuko dende?"

The assassin shook his head firmly. "What do you know of Common?" Artemis asked. _It's safe, _he gestured to Jarlaxle. _Approach. We'll find no danger from him. _

Curious, but hardly protesting the fact that Artemis had a handle of the situation, Jarlaxle nodded his agreement and walked by the Calishite's side as they went closer to greet this strange young man. _Native? _He asked with a tiny hand signal.

Entreri motioned a curt affirmative and then turned his attention to the Shaaryan traveler.

The young man smiled cheerily and pronounced in accented Common, "I know how to say I do not know how to say much." He straightened and put a cap on his full canteen, revealing a white bird painted across his bare chest. "I am Kiké, of the Eagles."

Artemis looked at the bird design on his chest curiously, then met his gaze and said, "I am Ardemis, of the N'teri."

Jarlaxle looked more and more confused. He looked back and forth at the two of them. Then he spontaneously broke out with a grin and said, "And I am Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe!"

"Bregan D'aerthe?" Kiké repeated, rolling the r's. "That is a very long name."

"I," Jarlaxle said, putting a hand on his chest, "am a very long person."

Kiké looked at Artemis. "Your friend makes no sense."

"Well, that's usual," Artemis said.

_Well, since we're all talking in Common, now, I suppose I can abandon my search for that whistle_, Jarlaxle thought. _But where did it get to?_

Entreri's expression changed from friendly amusement to that of thoughtful confusion. "But why are you out here all by yourself?" he asked. He smiled, and made a gesture of confidence at the conclusion he quickly came to, resting his hand on his belt where his dagger was sheathed. "You're on a quest, aren't you?"

"I am on a quest," Kiké said, nodding. "I am going to the mountain to ask the Eagle my question."

"That mountain?" Artemis said, turning and pointing at the peak of the Wyrmbone Mountains.

Kiké said, "Yes, that one. I will climb for many days before I reach the top."

"But why go through all that trouble?" Artemis asked curiously. "What is your question?"

"I am the chosen of my tribespeople," Kiké said. "I must ask the question so that I know where my destiny is. The Eagle must tell me how to be a man."

Jarlaxle was quickly becoming lost. Whatever context both Artemis and Kiké shared as Southern peoples that allowed them to talk so freely, he keenly felt he lacked. The drow mercenary looked from one brown-skinned man to the other with a plaintive expression.

"It looks to me like you have already become a man," Artemis said, gesturing at him and smiling.

Kiké looked embarrassed. "To become a man I must know my man destiny."

Artemis clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture that startled Jarlaxle. The Calishite grinned. "I think you'll just have to discover your destiny the way the rest of us do, Kiké. I still don't know my destiny. It happens one event at a time."

Kiké seemed to think about this. "I still want to know," he said at last. "That is why I have to go to the mountain."

The young Shaaryan looked at the mountains behind them so soulfully that Artemis faltered and felt an unfamiliar pang at the religious faith he had given up. "I don't know about the Eagle, but sometimes there is more to these gods than you think there may be," Artemis said. He didn't know why he issued such a vague warning to a person he hardly knew, but he felt obligated to say it, somehow.

Kiké gave him a wide-eyed look. "Thank you, Ardemis!" he exclaimed. He grasped the startled man's hands. "Now I know that I must see the Eagle! If there is more to him than I believe, then as a certainty he will help me!"

The assassin stared at him open-mouthed. "That's not what I meant," he said, but before he finished speaking, the young man excitedly clapped him on the shoulder and took off, bound for the mountains with such enthusiasm that Kiké was already leaving a trail of thrashing grass. Artemis turned, quickly, and caught the last possible glimpse of the dark-haired Shaaryan before he disappeared.

"Kimóko dendé!" Entreri called, hoping to reach him before he moved out of earshot. "Kinana o mendes, qitána!"

There was a waving hand suddenly above the tops of the thick grass. "Hei!" Kiké's answering voice was a joyful whoop. "Himaka tékana!"

Jarlaxle quietly joined the assassin at his left shoulder. "What did he say?"

Entreri looked subdued. Artemis lowered his head, gazing at the ground with a shaken, bewildered expression. "He said…He would see us again."

"And what did you say?"

"I said…" Artemis paused. Then he turned his head uncomfortably and muttered, "I told him that his Eagle had better not let him down."

"But why worry about that?" the drow mercenary asked. "You've only just met." When that didn't evoke a response, Jarlaxle tried again. "He did say he would be back, did he not?" He pointed after the young man.

Artemis just looked more troubled.

Jarlaxle studied him for a moment. "You don't believe him, do you?"

The Calishite didn't respond. His expression still held that subdued, shaken emotion. The assassin shook his head, slowly, and began walking, but he held that demeanor for a while still.

Jarlaxle thought that they were going to continue on their way, but Artemis only went as far as the cactus that Kiké had been harvesting water from. The man knelt down beside it and stared almost blankly at the cut that the Shaaryan had left. It was a round hole fitting back into the plant like a cork. "This is proof that he was really here," Artemis said. He let out a sigh.

Jarlaxle put a hand on Artemis' shoulder. "We could go back to the Wyrmbones with him."

"No, we can't," Artemis said, and he let out a sigh that turned into a laugh. "A quest has to be traveled alone."

As he stared at it, the hole in the cactus almost began to take on special meaning to Artemis. He remembered the edges of another hole, serrated and turning brown in the sun, one that had the meaning of life and death to him. He remembered, in a haze, fleeing across the desert, his feet kicking up sand as he ran, the way sweat made his clothing stick to his thin frame, his sandals soon filled with the burning dust all around him. He remembered his eyes stinging from the wind storms that crossed his path, he remembered the way his fingers started to crack and blister, rubbed raw by crawling when he was too weak to stand. The way that a single, small cactus looked to him like the lone mercy provided to him, the one chance that he could survive. He remembered how he crawled to that cactus, desperately, throat burning up, head spinning, and how he had allowed himself to feel no despair when he clumsily drew forth his dagger and didn't have enough strength to cleanly punch through the plant's skin. He knelt in front of that cactus, sawing at it, scraping it until he wore it thinner and thinner, and at last, with a sharp, wet sound, it sprung a leak, water spurting from the ragged hole. He tried to drink it like a water fountain, but he was too clumsy, and he only succeeded in getting his face wet. In terror that the cactus might run dry before he tasted water, he put his mouth against the hole. He drank until the cactus was dry, and didn't care that he'd sentenced the water-bearing plant to die. He curled up beside it and slept, for the first time in a week, and when he woke up, the once beautiful, pale hide of the cactus was already turning brown around the edges of the hole he'd hacked. He'd killed it, to save himself. Artemis smiled slightly, a bitter expression. That was the first of many times he killed to save himself. His travel across the Calim Desert taught him much more about his life to come than the nine-year-old boy he had been had ever understood.

Artemis snapped fully out of his memories and ran his hand across the sealed hole in the cactus uncomprehendingly. Kiké had left the cactus whole. He had put the flesh back into it. He pried the small round out of the hole, and stared inside the cactus. There was water in it. Artemis Entreri didn't understand; and then, he did. Kiké had left the water behind so that the plant could live.

He smiled at it, both intrigued, and somehow touched by the gesture. He put the cork-like piece of hide back in the cactus and stood up, brushing the sand from his trousers. "We go this way," he said, pointing across the clearing at the distant, gnarled trees. "We follow the desert until it ends."

"Why?" he heard the drow mercenary ask, from behind him.

"I have a feeling," Artemis said, shading his eyes with a hand and squinting at the distance. For once, he was content with that. His instincts had always steered him true, and he had a feeling more sure than any other in his life that he would find the answers across the desert clearing. Answers: a thing that Artemis Entreri was always looking for.


	3. How Great A Reputation

**Chapter 3**

How Great A Reputation

----------------------------------

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_Even more curious, Entreri had invited her into his confidence. It just wasn't his way. Still, Dwahvel suspected no trap. This was, she knew, exactly as it seemed, as surprising as that might be. Entreri was speaking to himself as much as to her, as a way of clarifying his thoughts, and for some reason that Dwahvel didn't yet understand, he was letting her listen in. _

_She considered herself complimented in the highest way and also realized the potential danger that came along with that compliment. That unsettling thought in mind, the halfling guildmistress quietly settled into a chair and listened carefully, looking for clues and insights. Her first, and most surprising, came when she happened to glance at a chair set against the back of the back wall of the room. Resting on it was a half-empty bottle of Moonshae whiskey. _

"_I see them at every corner on every street in the belly of this cursed city," Entreri was saying. "Braggarts wearing their scars and weapons like badges of honor, men and women so concerned about reputation that they have lost sight of what it is they truly wish to accomplish. They play for the status and the accolades, and with no better purpose."_

_His speech was not overly slurred, yet it was obvious to Dwahvel that Entreri had indeed tasted some of the whiskey. _

"_Since when does Artemis Entreri bother himself with the likes of street thieves?" Dwahvel asked._

_Entreri stopped pacing and glanced at her, his face passive. "I see them and mark them carefully, because I am well aware that my own reputation precedes me. Because of that reputation, many on the street would love to sink a dagger into my heart," the assassin replied and began to pace again. "How great a reputation that killer might then find. They know that I am older now, and they think me slower – and in truth, their reasoning is sound. I cannot move as quickly as I did a decade ago."_

_Dwahvel's eyes narrowed at the surprising admission._

"_But as the body ages and movements dull, the mind grows sharper," Entreri went on. "I, too, am concerned with reputation, but not as I used to be. It was my goal in life to be the absolute best at that which I do, at out-fighting and out-thinking my enemies. I desired to become the perfect warrior, and it took a dark elf whom I despise to show me the error of my ways. My unintended journey to Menzoberranzan as a 'guest' of Jarlaxle humbled me in my fanatical striving to be the best and showed me the futility of a world full of that who I most wanted to become. In Menzoberranzan, I saw reflections of myself at every turn, warriors who had become so callous to all around them, so enwrapped in the goal, that they could not begin to appreciate the process of attaining it." _

(17-19)

* * *

A few days later, and a ways down the road, the two unusual traveling companions awoke, stirring the silence of their small camp with early morning vigor that Artemis dubbed meaningless cheer.

"Ah!" Jarlaxle stretched his arms over his head. "Is it not a pleasure to get up at the crack of dawn?"

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "I believe that pleasure in anything is overrated. Duty…Responsibility…Ethics…That is enough. Pleasure? No. My duty to myself to rise at the earliest possible hour in order to maximize the waking hours of the day?" He nodded. "Satisfactory."

The drow looked at him curiously as he buttoned his scanty vest. "Do you not find pleasure in anything?"

They dressed, side by side, standing in the middle of Artemis' tent, which, oddly enough, the rays of the sun did pierce, though it was its own separate dimension (or so Artemis had been told). He thought about puzzling over the complexity of magic… but then decided he had more interesting things to think about. Like shaving. Or trimming his fingernails.

Artemis grinned at him, noting that for some reason, Jarlaxle had hung up a clothesline on one wall, hung entirely with ladies undergarments. The assassin's expression became serious as he considered the question.

There was an aroma of coffee spreading through the tent. The source was a steaming cup of dark brew resting on a circular plate with three round legs. This tripod was a drow heater. It had a disk in it that grew hot at the command of a magical word. Jarlaxle had taken the device out of his travel pack in order to have a cup of his new favorite drink in the morning.

"I find many things enjoyable," the assassin said after a long pause. "I like eating a meal. Or being able to sleep without fear that someone will come up behind me and stab me to death. Or not dying of thirst."

Jarlaxle sighed in exasperation, turned to his mirror, and rubbed oil on his bald head. It was a ritual he had done every morning and every night, one of late that Artemis had actually witnessed. His mirror, one Artemis found extremely ugly, had a heavy gold frame, and floated midair on command. "I mean real things," the mercenary said to his companion, glancing at the Calishite's reflection in his mirror. "Like long baths, and walks by the sea shore." He massaged his scalp with delicate fingers until he ran out of oil, and then bent down to pour more from a pink glass bottle.

"I've never been to the sea shore," the assassin said mildly. "I hear that it is polluted from the refuse of many cities near it, and so I consider myself fortunate, at least in that respect."

"You're a pessimist," Jarlaxle said, fitting his plumed, purple hat upon his head. He adjusted it so that the feather was on the right side of his head, and then fished his red eye patch out of a vest pocket. This momentarily puzzled the Calishite, for it seemed that to be able to fit the eye patch over his head, he should have put it on first. However, the drow's eye patch proved to have a tiny gold clasp. Jarlaxle merely looped the black leather strings behind his head, fastened the clasp, and then adjusted the patch until it rested over his right eye. "That's your problem," the mercenary continued. "You can't enjoy life if you wanted to."

"Well, I don't," Artemis retorted. "Enjoying life makes a person vulnerable. I don't intend to be vulnerable any time soon."

The drow grinned at him slyly, at last turning around to face him. Jarlaxle swirled his cape in one ebony hand. "And am I vulnerable? Because I enjoy life to its fullest?"

"You tell me." Artemis shrugged. "What was it like being enslaved by the paperweight known as Crenshinibon?"

"You're never going to let me forget that," Jarlaxle complained, walking out of the tent.

"You forgot your coffee. Don't leave your coffee in my tent."

Jarlaxle paused long enough for the assassin to hand him his coffee with a characteristic scowl, and then walked out into the sunshine.

Artemis spent longer in the tent. He made sure that his goatee was neatly trimmed, reluctantly using Jarlaxle's floating mirror. Then he allowed himself to take the time to cover himself with oil that protected from the sun's rays. Finally, he pulled on a white cotton tunic, and got on his leather armor.

He glanced over at his bedroll, where the Netherese blade, Charon's Claw, was lying in its sheath. Since his capture and destruction of Crenshinibon, the magical sword had become more vocal with him. He didn't dismiss the possibility that the reason he could hear Charon's Claw was also because his communication with the Shard had somehow strengthened his abilities to commune with sentient artifacts. He no longer wore Charon's Claw as a constant companion at his hip because it was noisy. Artemis didn't know whether or not Jarlaxle had noticed that he and the sword slept apart, but the reason for that was that the sword did its damnedest to try and keep Artemis awake with its slithering, evil chatter. Of course, he didn't fear the blade – after all, he had conquered it –but it was still a matter of minor irritation.

Artemis Entreri pulled on his red-stitched glove, walked over, and picked up Charon's Claw with his bare hand. "Hello." He looked at the skull pommel mildly.

_When Jarlaxle turns on you, I will eat you. _

The assassin directed disbelief at it, and merely fastened the sword to his belt. Crenshinibon gave him ample experience to ignore psychic ravings.

The Netherese blade seemed to look at him with beady eyes. Artemis thought he could feel it grinning at him. _Soulez was delicious. _

Entreri smirked nastily in response and reminded it that unless it suddenly found a lot more magic and a mage of repute crazy enough to transform it into a living being, it was still a sword, and swords do whatever others tell them to do.

"Besides, do you really hate me enough to annihilate me, even though I've been your most worthy wielder yet?" Artemis asked.

_No one is worthy to wield me_, it said haughtily.

"Then you must be disappointed," he said. "Being a sword must seem like eternal slavery."

It pulsed grumpily. _I am the most powerful demon in the Abyss. _

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "You _would_ say that, never having to prove it because you're stuck inside a sword, and all."

"Why are you talking to your sword?" Jarlaxle asked, popping his head back in through the entrance of the tent. "I don't mean to pry, since it's a personal matter…"

Artemis reached out with one hand and shoved his companion back out of the tent, then followed the drow mercenary outside before the garish, protesting elf could make any headway in the accusations that the assassin was manhandling him. "You always mean to pry. It's your nature."

Jarlaxle wondered when he said things like that. "Not to inquire, of course, but your constant paranoia surrounding our partnership worries me," the dark elf said, brushing off his hands and kneeling before the firepit he'd made last night. They'd camped in the middle of the verdant grasslands they'd reached on the other side of the desert patch. After leaving the site of their meeting with Kiké behind, they'd traveled deep into a veritable forest of thick, tough plants, with much broader leaves than grass, though it seemed comparable in appearance otherwise. They were now surrounded by gnarled, intermittent trees, and that suited Jarlaxle just fine, as he was able to gather sticks to make a fire.

When Artemis emerged from the tent, Jarlaxle had already set a small black pot on the fire, and the bubbling contents smelled definitely of cereal grains.

"I would think you'd be used to constant paranoia," the assassin remarked. He didn't comment on the fact that Jarlaxle's statement eerily echoed the intent of the Netherese blade's cynical attempts at manipulation. They were both talking about the same thing, albeit expressing different sentiments. _But it's not their business how I feel_, Artemis silently decided. _Either of them. It does not matter whether it is a sentient sword perpetually trying to break me, or a so-called 'friend' expressing concern. Paranoia is my concern, and I will decide what is paranoid and what isn't. Just like always. _

The assassin hid his thoughts by bending over the pot to examine its contents. The boiling grain looked to him like _miil_, the sole Drow grain of the Underdark, which was actually harvested from a flowering grass before it blossomed. It survived only near certain bodies of Underdark lakes, and Artemis understood that it was also trading material with the Kua-toas, a neighboring fish people that took their goddess very seriously, thus hitting it off with the fanatical dark elves.

"Used to it, yes," Jarlaxle said. "Enjoy it, no."

They went through the morning's tasks with what soon became a ritual. This could have been any morning along their trip. They ate, and then they cleaned the dishes. After that, they prepared to move on. Artemis took care of making sure their packs were organized and full of the correct supplies, and while he was cleaning up camp, kicking ashes over the fire, Jarlaxle was fawning over the horses they'd bought yesterday from a halfling merchant of Luiren. The drow mercenary spent far too much time talking to them in Drow baby-talk and petting them, but aside from the occasional bout of exasperation, Artemis couldn't say he minded much. The assassin finished deconstructing the campsite, tucked his tent replica back into a pocket on his belt, and went over to where the horses were tethered. They seamlessly picked up their conversation together.

"One of the reasons you're up here with me, instead of down there with the rest of your people?" Artemis asked. He strapped the packs to the horses' backs with the ease of long practice.

Jarlaxle shrugged, looking at Artemis with a mixture of emotions all present at once on his face. He was intrigued, but also surprised at this abrupt, rather taciturn questioning he was receiving from the man. Perhaps he was even inclined to lay down part of his reaction to pity; it seemed so distressing, disappointing, somehow, that a person like Artemis Entreri, a person like the man he had come to know, could be shunned so. Moreover, that Artemis Entreri expected it, even welcomed the desertion by now. It caused a pang in the dark elf's chest because he could never stand to be alone, to be so abandoned by everyone around him. He needed people, and he needed people to need him so much so that he always hardwired situations where they couldn't leave him. He knew he did it, he did it on purpose so that he would never have to suffer living a life alone. Artemis had done exactly that, it seemed to him, and so he was naturally inspired to feel pity towards this human man who had everything from a point of view based on talents, but who had nothing from Jarlaxle's point of view, so centered around social life.

"Why would you think I would have it any other way?" Jarlaxle asked.

There was a peculiar softness in the dark elf mercenary's voice, and Artemis picked up on it.

"What?" the assassin said, looking at him sharply. The Calishite assassin struggled with what he saw there; emotions running rampant, gestures that Artemis found genuinely uncomfortable to witness.

He grimaced, and looked away, shifting his eyes.

As they rode down the trail that the Luiren merchant had pointed out to them the day before, Artemis found that while the scenery should have distracted him, it didn't. He couldn't express any interest in the groves of gnarled trees, or the times when they passed a small oasis, teeming with brightly colored birds with long, stick-like legs hunting frogs and fish.

Again he was reminded of the statement on the cliff about Jarlaxle's defense of Artemis against Kimmuriel. He clenched his jaw. He was forced to believe that Jarlaxle did mean it, that Jarlaxle did care about him, even enough to risk an alliance with another Drow in order to be Artemis' friend.

However, it had no meaning to him, the idea that Jarlaxle wanted to be his friend. What role did 'friend' entail? Certainly not the traditional family friend, one of the supports mainly holding up life in Calimshan, which entailed knowing another man from birth or childhood and offering financial support and advice during a youth's growing years. A comrade in arms, then, a person met during a person's travels and education, whose talents complemented one's own, and who, through teamwork, enhanced a person's profession, shared the same pathways, and declared the same goals.

Yet… Artemis did not know what a 'friend' meant to a Drow, a race notorious for being puzzling, inscrutable, and treacherous. He didn't know enough traditions, even having lived there for a short while, and he didn't know how many traditions an elf like Jarlaxle would respect in the first place. Both of those things made it hard to judge the value of a statement of friendship from the drow mercenary.

Even beyond that, the question that Artemis Entreri found himself resenting in its absence was that he'd never been asked if he wanted a friend. Did he want a companion to travel with, to converse with, a person to confide in, to trust in, a figure to rely on when he was defeated? No. Yes. Maybe.

Artemis shook his head. He rubbed his goatee with one hand, holding only carelessly onto the reins, as the brown gelding he now rode was one of the tamest animals he'd ever seen, and thought about it, as painful as it was. He didn't know what he wanted.

"Well?" Jarlaxle asked, interrupting Artemis' thoughts disconcertingly.

It was a split second before Artemis realized he had been so focused on his own thoughts that he had to be forcibly attuned to his surroundings again.

"What makes you think that I would abandon you, after all this time?" Jarlaxle asked, now that he had Artemis' attention.

The assassin glared at him in reproach for this abrupt questioning.

The drow mercenary ignored the look Artemis sent at him as if it had been about as threatening as water droplets, and he had covered himself head to foot with wax. Artemis hated that affectation. "I've had wonderful adventures with you!" He flung his arms out wide, as if completely oblivious to the fact that he was riding on top of a large, moving animal. "Like the time we saved that damsel in distress –"

"Whore," Artemis absently interrupted. He didn't even have to consciously think of what Jarlaxle was referring to. He would remember that incident forever. "It was a whore you hired out for the night, and I did not save her, I merely beat the narcotics addict to a pulp because he was challenging me, and I hate their kind. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was clinging to me and screaming."

The long story to that one had been that Jarlaxle, trying to get Artemis to enjoy himself, had bribed a local girl to attempt the assassin's seduction. Artemis naturally refused to let her even touch him, and until the drugs peddler came to their door, trying to sell ill-gotten wares in exchange for enough money to buy his own favorite poison from a different dealer, Artemis had successfully kept the girl at bay. The 'challenge' he'd referred to was the addict's attempts to sell him some smelly herbs.

The mercenary elf snickered, and tried to hide a smile with one ebony hand. "Just like it was beyond your control that the child who was abducted happened to be in the basement of the winery belonging to that gluttonous, liquor-imbibing halfwit that insulted you and spilled a fine vintage of red on your tunic when we stopped by the local inn for lunch."

Jarlaxle knew that the moment Artemis had heard of the child's disappearance, he stalked straight over to the man's house of liquor and confronted the man. What he didn't know was how Artemis had known that the man was responsible for the boy's abduction. He hadn't asked at the time, but it didn't make him any less curious. The assassin had seemed to do nothing more than read the minor noble's character, and yet, even Jarlaxle himself would not have guessed such a clumsy, repulsive man responsible for an act that required cunning.

Artemis icily raised an eyebrow, and gave his companion an expression that brooked no argument. "Exactly." He had half a mind to draw Charon's Claw and smack the rump of Jarlaxle's horse with the flat of his blade, just to see how long it would take Jarlaxle to rein in his new mount. He didn't, but he did content himself with fantasizing about it.

"I see," Jarlaxle said, merrily tipping his hat and leaning back in the saddle with an enormous grin. "And when it was lizard folk attacking the town, it was because you simply couldn't stand their pungent stench and you couldn't let them destroy the first place we'd come to that would have a clean bath, warm beds, and meals for a while."

The assassin stared at him incredulously, as if he wanted to know what in the nine hells Jarlaxle was driving at. "Yes."

"That's an awful lot of good deeds," Jarlaxle suggested. He took off his hat and dusted it, holding it in one hand and paying a great deal of attention to this action, as though he were completely absorbed in cleaning his hat. It was a wonder that his horse didn't immediately veer off into the tall grass, or stop at the side of the road where thick beds of clover grew and start grazing at it. But no, the horse didn't even seem to notice that its rider wasn't paying attention.

Entreri looked at him in disgust. "Claim to be a hero if you want to," he said bluntly, accentuating all his words. "But do not think I will let you drag me into your charade. I am an assassin. A killer. A thief. It is what I do. And I don't intend to _pretend_ to do otherwise."

"Is there something wrong with pretending?" Jarlaxle asked, and he met Artemis' gaze with a mild expression, his eyes revealing the highest calm.

The assassin spat his answer through gritted teeth. "Yes."

"Then what is it?"

Artemis growled in frustration and turned away, fastening his eyes resolutely on the dirt trail they followed.

"Don't want to tell me, eh?" the mercenary drow said. He leaned forward with a sly grin and raised an index finger. "Why not? Why be so concerned with whether or not what people think of you is the truth?" He waited for a moment in carnivorous anticipation, and when Artemis refused to answer, he asked with a leer, "Is it because you have a _moral _incapability to represent yourself falsely?"

The Calishite sneered, flaring up bitterly in response to Jarlaxle's provoking. "As if."

Jarlaxle widened his eyes and tapped his bottom lip. "Methinks you sound a little insecure."

Artemis snarled. "Shove off."

Jarlaxle leaned forward further still and talked fondly to his mount. "I'm right, aren't I? We both know we're right, yes we do." The mercenary reverted back to Drow. "_Ph' naut dos fridj l' mzilst il'yivera klez rin'ov. Dos qua'l xuil uns'aa ichl_." He chuckled and patted the horse between the ears.

Artemis was pretty sure that he was telling his horse that it was the cutest thing ever. The assassin sighed, and attempted not to let Jarlaxle's tactic of switching his audience from the Calishite to an unresponsive third party get under his skin.

-----------------------

It was two more days before they met anyone along the roads. In the afternoon, they came across a train of six merchant wagons, stopped for their afternoon siesta, and they decided to stop and say their hellos. Introducing themselves, of course, by cutting down the gnoll bandits waiting to loot the merchants and kill them all, not necessarily in that order.

It was a blur of blood and steel as Jarlaxle and Artemis ambushed the gnolls from behind. It was hard to say who was really fighting the battle; Jarlaxle, or Entreri.

Artemis easily cut them down, Charon's Claw slicing through hide, muscle, and bone as if cutting through water. The gnolls were armed with axes and clubs, and neither one stopped Artemis Entreri from wading through their ranks. In the case of the former, he cut their arms off to disarm them. In the case of the latter, Charon's Claw sliced through the wooden bludgeons without effort.

But on the other hand, Jarlaxle didn't even have to get close. He merely started throwing daggers, which found unprotected heads and backs while the gnolls were busy trying to fend off the assassin.

Between the two of them it was over so fast that the sellswords from the caravans ringing the oasis were still running to the battlefield with their weapons half-drawn. The three swords for hire stopped in their tracks, astonished at the appearance of the two hardened partners.

Artemis was suddenly aware of his sweat-stained, blood-streaked tunic and every frayed edge of his leather armor, the dustiness of his boots, and the frightening bright red blade of Charon's Claw, dripping blood outlining the engravings of cloaked men with scythes. He stifled a sigh at the over dramatic decoration and the impression it was most likely giving the hired swords about him. He took a rag from a pocket on his belt, wiped the blade off, and sheathed it.

Jarlaxle merely paused, taking in their astonishment both at his dress and at his magical bracers. Then he tipped his hat to them when they didn't move or change expression and turned to the assassin, asking easily, "Should we introduce ourselves?"

Taking that for a rhetorical question, Artemis shrugged, and looked at the sellswords. "Armed," he said distinctly. Three pairs of eyes stared at him. Jarlaxle merely polished his rings on his vest and looked off into the distance with an amused smile on his face. "Armed and Dangerous."

The trio of newcomers looked at each other, unsure what to make of this. The assassin could almost see them trying to decide whether or not he was in jest.

"I suppose you would be Armed," Jarlaxle murmured.

Artemis tipped his black hat to the drow mercenary. "Of course."

A grin flashed across Jarlaxle's face. "That makes me Dangerous."

The assassin pointed to the various wands at Jarlaxle's belt. "No, those make you dangerous."

The drow mercenary laughed.

Artemis glanced over at the sellswords to find them shrugging and sheathing their weapons, apparently deciding through the witness of this exchange that the odd pair weren't a threat. He let himself make a small, crooked smile and shake his head. They were so young. Too young. _Children_, he thought. _All children_. He recalled when he thought people his own age were children, compared to him, his title of lieutenant in the Basadoni Guild still settling uncomfortably on his young, bony shoulders. These hired swords were too young. Too young to be fighting gnolls. Gnolls could rip you apart with their teeth given a moment's notice. They ate their victims after stealing from them.

The assassin sighed. Then he stretched, popping his back, and prepared himself to play the role of the aged wandering sellsword. Jarlaxle watched him with a smile as he walked back to the tree they'd tethered their horses to and retrieved the beasts. Artemis still couldn't say that he was fond of the two steeds, but he did look on them favorably for not giving away their ambush of the gnolls.

A boy with hardly a few wisps of hair growing on his chin and upper lip and skin too dark to be a Calishite looked at Entreri with open awe, eyes traveling to the crimson Netherese blade. "How did you do that?" He blurted the question out so obviously that Artemis had to force down a twinge of pain at this further evidence of the sellsword's youth.

Artemis glanced back to the fallen bodies and saw that there was still some black ash hanging in the air. Though he'd hardly needed to, he had still used that attack of Charon's Claw to his advantage out of practicality. "Ashbringer," the assassin said tersely, not having to feign the weary reticence of a hired blade beginning to go past his prime. "Magical sword. Found it in a Netherese ruin."

"Is it true?" a Calishite youth in well-cared for steel armor asked. "Are they coming back?"

"Who?" Artemis asked. He handed off the reins to Jarlaxle, since they were his oversized pets, anyway.

The Calishite youth replied, "The Netherese. The shades."

The assassin exchanged a glance with Jarlaxle. This was the first he'd heard of such a thing. It made him queasy just to think about. He didn't need that mess happening in his lifetime. "I don't know." Entreri scowled at the ground, averting his eyes from everyone as he added, "We have enough trouble with the evil that never sleeps."

The three young sellswords all nodded emphatically, and two of them made gestures of supplication to personal deities.

_What do you mean, the evil that never sleeps?_ Jarlaxle asked the assassin in covert hand signals.

Artemis Entreri snapped back curtly with forceful flicks of his fingers, _Snake. People. _

Jarlaxle, surprised, was asking another question in the silent Drow language in intricate, flowing movements, but Artemis ignored him.

"Would you like to share our camp?" the dark-skinned sellsword asked, gesturing at the merchant caravans. They were gathered in a large semi-circle around a large pool of water framed by trees and brush, and a section of smooth, flat sand. Someone had set up a bon fire, and both Artemis and Jarlaxle could smell food.

Jarlaxle lit up, but restrained himself.

The assassin gave a definite nod, and then jerked his thumb at his partner. "He's with me."

The young swords-for-hire smiled large, polite smiles and laughed nervously, bowing and bobbing their heads. Apparently, they were a little too nervous to look at Jarlaxle directly.

"Welcome to the land of the Sun," the Calishite youth in steel armor said.

Jarlaxle pretended not to notice their obvious skittishness. "Thank you! It's very lovely here." The dark elf looked around admiringly at the wasteland, which drew three confused looks from their new acquaintances.

Artemis shook his head and sighed. "Don't mind him. He is odd."

"I'm not odd!" Jarlaxle protested, putting his hands on his hips. "I am slightly insane. There is a difference."

That drew more nervous laughter from the young sellswords.

"I picked him up inside the Netherese ruin as well," Artemis said. He couldn't resist a smirk as he tweaked the mercenary further by saying, "He was also going for the treasure, but he'd been defeated by an ancient trap and sustained a head injury."

Indignity flashed across Jarlaxle's face for a moment before he composed himself. A retort was on his lips, but rather than risk destroying Artemis' credibility, he stifled it. He contented himself by giving the assassin a measured look and murmuring, "How well it was that you came along to save me." The look in his visible crimson eye was a wry assurance that Artemis was going to be the one with a humiliating background in the next story they told travelers.

"He doesn't know south from north, but he's good with horses," Artemis said. He grinned.

The dark elf recognized the first part of Artemis' sentence as a popular Calishite idiom referring to confusion or foolishness caused by diminished mental faculties. Jarlaxle resigned himself to playing this humiliating role, and smiled mildly. "It was a horse that told me what I needed to do in order to get well, so I owe his people my undying gratitude." The mercenary raised his eyes to the sky and sighed. _If I have to be crazy, I may as well make an impression._

He signaled to Artemis, _I'll get you for this_. _No candy for you. _The assassin's baffled expression after deciphering the latter sentence was all that Jarlaxle needed in reward. He threw back his head and cackled loudly. _I'm crazy, remember? _

Artemis scowled at him. _Don't spook the quarry_, the assassin gestured back.

As he'd expected, Artemis spent the next hour and a half sitting around a fire shared by the six caravans ringing the oasis, telling stories of battles past and watching the young caravan guards roast meat, make stew, and bake various edible roots in the coals. These youths knew little of what was jokingly called 'roughing it'. Going off on one's own, traveling through all weather with minimal protection, hunting off the land for survival. The wandering life.

Jarlaxle, when he wanted to, could fade into the background, and rather than risk being kicked out, that was exactly what the drow mercenary did. He just sat in a corner of the area by the fire, smiling tolerantly at everything and voicing an opinion just often enough to remind everyone he was still there. He watched Artemis with a great deal of interest, no doubt surprised at this reminder of Artemis' acting ability, when the assassin chose to use it.

At first, Entreri dutifully begun reciting some old tales he had heard when he was young, listening to adventurers too far in their cups to keep their mouths shut while he waited for the chance to pick their pockets. Though Jarlaxle frowned at him for butchering a good tale, none of the rapt young guards murmured a peep.

Then, to spice things up, he'd begun telling a story that resembled his search and quest for self-worth, throwing in little pieces of brief exaggeration to keep from telling the whole truth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarlaxle's ears prick up, and though he knew that it meant Jarlaxle was trying to sort out his story and test it for veracity, it didn't stop him from telling it. He was animatedly gesturing towards the end, setting the finale in the spiraling staircase through the core of a sorceress' tower, savoring being able to speak for the first time about the clash of metal and scimitars.

Abruptly, his heart started beating faster, and he realized with a burst of surprise and chagrined disappointment that surely showed on his face that those times that he was speaking of in such a thinly veiled way had been the best times of his life. What quickly followed on the heels of that realization was the new and distraught epiphany that he would likely never live up to it again.

"In an accident, the ranger's foot caught on a cracked step, and the worshipper of Malar tumbled to his doom. I found him dead at the foot of the steps near the entrance to the tower." The assassin looked expressionlessly into the shocked faces of the three young sellswords. His gray eyes were hard and unyielding. "That was when I learned that life wasn't fair. I had gone through all the trouble to hunt him down and confront him, besting him with steel and courage instead of his cowardly worship, and fate took him away from me. I will never know who is the greater fighter. The fighter who survives alone, or the fighter who has everything and rises to excellence through alliances with higher powers."

Jarlaxle was looking at him strangely; surely the drow mercenary was guessing at what his ending was revealing about him. He didn't care. Jarlaxle could discern whatever he wanted to. The dark elf's guesses about him didn't make presumptions reality.

The assassin got up and excused himself from the fire. He had the grace to actually feel a little guilty for instilling that harsh lesson into those boys. If nothing else, he had stolen their enthusiasm without really teaching anything to them, for he himself hadn't truly believed that until he found it out the hard way.

"I feel old," the assassin said, walking side-by-side as Jarlaxle went shopping.

The merchants were all too happy to try to score a few sales off the dark elf while the two traveling partners stuck around for the day. They set up make-shift kiosks, bringing out small tables and hastily stretching out awnings, or arranging the backs of their wagons more attractively.

Though the merchants were too important to stay around and pander to the dark elf's needs, they sent out their assistants when they retreated back to their pillows for their afternoon rest. A bevy of young, scrawny boys, sticking together out of the camaraderie of their mutual positions, watched Jarlaxle with carefully impassive faces. Apparently, they weren't afraid of him because he was a customer.

The drow mercenary tipped his hat to them with a friendly smile in response and set himself to browsing.

Jarlaxle glanced at his friend's face. He looked old; it was a tiredness around the eyes. "You're as old as you feel," the mercenary quipped, quoting the old platitude at the assassin.

Artemis looked at him sourly. "Then how old are you? Four? Perhaps eight?" The Calishite snapped his fingers. "No, I've got it. Prepubescent female. You preen enough."

"Whatever do you mean?" Jarlaxle asked, innocently surveying his reflection in a nearby mirror hanging in a kiosk of finely wrought metals. The frame was gold, ornately decorated with mermaids and schools of fish.

The assassin stared at him. "Don't even think it."

"I like the one I already have better anyway," Jarlaxle said. He meandered over to what seemed to be a tailor's display and began admiring various silk shirts. He lifted sleeves against his bare skin, testing the contrast of the two vastly different colors. Then he turned to Entreri. "Which do you think? The green, or the blue?"

Artemis Entreri stared back, trying to decide whether or not to give an honest answer, or any answer at all. One of the shirts was a sea green, which honestly wasn't that bad except when taken into account with the rest of the drow's outfit, and the other was a dark, piercing blue that clashed somehow horribly with Jarlaxle's hat. He imagined what would happen if Jarlaxle actually bought one of the two shirts, or worse, bought the one that matched least because of the mercenary's demented fashion sense. "The green." He sighed.

Jarlaxle beamed. "I do agree it's lovely!"

"I can't believe I'm your accomplice on this expedition," Artemis said. The sun and heat were sapping the energy out of his arms and legs, and as he wiped sweat from his forehead he realized that he and Jarlaxle hadn't taken their own afternoon nap yet. Pausing in the middle of the day when it became too hot to go on was very important in this region. "I think I'll lie down in the shade for a while." He turned and began walking towards the said shade of a short, gnarled tree beside the water hole.

The mercenary turned in mild surprise, a chuckle escaping his lips at the sight. "My friend, in retirement?"

"Perhaps," Entreri said, without turning around. "Perhaps I will spend the rest of my life under a tree looking at the pond and wondering what may have been if I had actually had the balls to stick it out and die in battle when you finally get yourself killed."

Jarlaxle held up his hands in a peaceable gesture and chuckled again. "No need for such sarcasm."

As Artemis lay on the soft, sandy bank, reclining in his coveted shade, he wondered drowsily if he should have been surprised that these merchants did not recognize him for who he was. They were from Calimport, after all, and he had never made much of a secret of his identity in those desert city walls. In fact, he took it as a matter of pride to walk openly, nodding in passing at those whom he pleased to. But on the other hand, it had been several years since he had been stalking through Calimport regularly. Oh, the past few years, after his return in the employ of Jarlaxle and when he was mostly in control of his old Guild, had been spent entirely in Calimport, but not as an assassin. Officially, he had seen fit to give himself greater duties than to take orders and assassinate some petty rivals for fat merchants and the like. So perhaps it was not at all odd that his face was fading from the collective consciousness of Calimport.

He grinned to himself. The Companions of Mithral Hall had given him an inflated sense of notoriety in their awe at him and his 'evil ways'. The assassin chuckled. In truth, when he was home, he was merely one assassin of many, all working the same turf. It wasn't at all the same as the larger than life picture they were fond of painting of him. The deadly stalker in the night. The shadow of death. Gods, if they had only known how much those whispered references to him had amused him. If he had been like Jarlaxle, inclined to jolly displays, he might have openly informed them of their foolishness and spent a great deal of time laughing in their faces.

He mused, closing his eyes and allowing the faint, pleasant breeze to wash over his face, _Particularly the lovely Catti-brie_. He had never told her so, but Jarlaxle had often called her that, during their all-too-brief brush with each other in the Underdark, and he had never, indeed, seen fit to correct the mercenary on that count.

Judging by Drizzt's protectiveness of her, especially during their escape all those years ago, Entreri wouldn't be surprised to go north and see redheaded little half-drow children running around their legs.

_Oh, about that…_Artemis stopped, thought back to Jarlaxle's insinuations and outright lies that Drizzt was dead, and was almost tempted to go tell Jarlaxle this minute that the assassin already knew everything. If he had read the mercenary properly, his friend had deliberately dropped the hint to him out of guilt. Artemis Entreri shook his head and grinned. Jarlaxle wasn't as mysterious as he pretended to be.

He honestly thought sometimes that the mysteriousness was a ploy to keep people from figuring out how obvious the mercenary really was. The big wink and the giving of the password 'Asanque', for instance. Jarlaxle had done the equivalent of spelling out to him that the mercenary wanted him to take the mask from Gromph's desk, and in fact, that was exactly what Jarlaxle _did_ intend for him to do. So Artemis 'rescued' Catti-brie from him, took the spider mask, and ran. And step by step, all of Jarlaxle's preparations had smoothed the way for his escape with the two Companions of the Hall, just as the mercenary had predicted. And yet, Jarlaxle hadn't been able to resist appearing to the small party after their escape from Menzoberranzan to give a melodramatic speech and wish them well, deliberately revealing everything like a pleased stage narrator explaining an epilogue to the play's audience.

Artemis Entreri crossed his arms behind his head, hiding the fact that he was holding his jeweled dagger in case he was attacked, and wondered if Jarlaxle had rehearsed that speech or written it down someplace where they hadn't seen it during the reading.

He shook his head, still grinning. His friend was a shameless attention-hoarder, and he liked Jarlaxle that way. They made a good team. Jarlaxle distracted everyone around them by being his outrageous, extroverted self, playing perfectly off of Artemis' flat, calm demeanor – which by itself, people tended to find uncomfortable. They balanced each other perfectly. They were a team.

And for the first time in his life, Artemis Entreri felt complete. He had a place, and a significance that wouldn't fade with time. No matter what happened - he was coming to understand this slowly but surely – no matter what happened, he and Jarlaxle were partners. And Jarlaxle did not, somehow, seem to ever need to betray his partners. The drow mercenary had, after a fashion, betrayed Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, but that had only been due to the unhealthy influence of the Crystal Shard trying to take Jarlaxle away from his broad network of associates and friends. Once the mercenary had been freed from that dangerous influence, he had returned to normal.

Artemis frowned. A fly alighted on his nose, danced around the tip of it, and was scared away when he blew an irritated breath at it.

When he'd orchestrated his rescue of Jarlaxle with Dwahvel, the assassin had thought that the shard's influence would be broken if Artemis simply took it away from him. That hadn't turned out to be the case after all, and the Calishite had to deal with an unbalanced Jarlaxle for the next few months during their journey to dispose of the evil artifact. An unbalanced Jarlaxle had been doubly frightening to witness because the dark elf was unbalanced anyway.

After a lifetime in Menzoberranzan, who wouldn't be? Artemis had felt himself slipping and he'd only resided there a short time. Much longer than he wanted to be there, surely, but in the experiences of his entire life, it was a drop in the ocean.

_Menzoberranzan… Jarlaxle… What was it that Jarlaxle had said to that bartender_ – Briar, his mind supplied – _about the nine hells? That they weren't worth a return visit?_ Entreri frowned. _Return… visit…_

_No_, he shook his head, denying it, _Jarlaxle was just pulling the bartender's leg like he always does. _

Then… _Why not?_ Why couldn't the dark elf mercenary be telling the truth? He was a male, after all, in the single most deadly environment in the entire world for someone with genitals on the outside. He could easily have been captured, tortured, killed, revived, and then sent on his way – or perhaps more fitting with Jarlaxle's incredible survival skills, escaped, and then recovered. The mercenary might make sure that ordinary people never knew. It could have been a noble House, secretive when torturing Jarlaxle because the most widespread opinion of Jarlaxle seemed to be that he was too valuable to interrogate like that. They could have hushed it up, and Jarlaxle might have complied to avoid the loss of face a defeat would bring his organization.

All of a sudden, Artemis Entreri wasn't so tired anymore. He felt cold, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.


	4. Without Expecting Something in Return

**Chapter 4**

Without Expecting Something in Return

--------------------------------------------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_"Why would old Soulez sell it now?" Sha'lazzi asked with a dramatic wave of his skinny arms – arms that looked so incongruous when lifted beside that huge head. "What is this, my friend, the third time you have tried to purchase that fine sword? Yes, yes! First, when you were a pup with a few hundred gold pieces – a gift of Basadoni, eh? – in your ragged pouch." _

_Entreri winced at that despite himself, despite his knowledge that Sha'lazzi, for all his other faults, was the best in Calimport at reading gestures and expressions and deriving the truth behind them. Still, the memory, combined with more recent events, evoked the response from his heart. Pasha Basadoni had indeed given him the extra coin that long-ago day, an offering to his most promising lieutenant for no good reason but simply as a gift. When he thought about it, Entreri realized that Basadoni was perhaps the only man who had ever given him a gift without expecting something in return. _

_And Entreri had killed Basadoni, only a few months ago._

(5)

* * *

Jarlaxle smiled at the distant form of his companion lying in the shade of the oasis. Even while he was going about the rest of his business, the dark elf mercenary was watching over Artemis as he slept. If that was what Artemis was doing, of course. Jarlaxle doubted it. Judging from what he knew of the assassin, the man was now pretending to sleep and keeping an eye out for approaching hostility. 

Jarlaxle continued to watch, for a long moment with that smile playing across his lips, uncaring of the picture he painted. His head was turned towards his friend even though he stood in front of a humble kiosk peddling dried and sealed foods, trying to decide how many pitted dates and wheels of cheese to buy. In one hand, he held several dates, and the other was resting on the top of the counter by a small silver scale. His attention was clearly on the form of Artemis as he said, "How much for a pound?"

"That would be six copper coins of Calishite currency," the kiosk vender, an assistant merchant of about twenty-six years with a thick, curled mustache said. "If you need me to translate that into something else, that would be…"

Jarlaxle's attention waned. He nodded absently and said, motioning to the purse at his belt, "That will be fine. I have all the local currency I need."

The air was hot and still on his face. It was with surprise that he again realized he was far above his homeland, feet resting on the surface his mind had always imagined as hovering close to the sun. It was like walking on the top of a moving platform. He couldn't help the ghost sensation that the ground his feet were standing on was not nearly as solid as his senses told him it was.

He noticed the stillness of the camp around him and thought that in this moment, it would be likely for Artemis to notice his scrutiny. The assassin would never believe that the mercenary was doing that because he wanted Artemis to be safe. Artemis was constantly afraid that people could be using him. He would fear that Jarlaxle had some sinister purpose in watching him.

Jarlaxle chuckled quietly to himself. Of course, to Artemis, _life_ was sinister.

It wasn't so to Jarlaxle. Life could be beautiful – it frequently _was_ beautiful. And life could be fun – it was always fun. Jarlaxle grinned. Sometimes it just was a different kind of fun, a fun that was harder to identify and enjoy. Everything has its own fun. Jarlaxle knew that he was in the minority in that opinion, but he also knew that he was the only person he knew of who had been denied life at birth and then had a chance to get it back.

He bargained about cheese without really thinking about it, negotiating a lower price in the event that he bought more cheese. If he bought four palm-sized wheels of cheese, he wanted to pay ten copper pieces instead of paying three copper pieces for each wheel of cheese. It was just enough of a shave off the price that he felt it would be a better deal without having to make the vendor walk away without making a profit. That would be like buying three cheeses at full price, and getting the last one at one-third the price. To an outsider, Jarlaxle would seem totally absorbed in the bargaining.

But the truth was, he was watching over Artemis. These traders were primarily Calishites, and Artemis was famous in Calimshan – for all the wrong things now that they were playing sellswords. Jarlaxle uneasily weighed the chances of any of them remembering Artemis' face. If that happened, he had to be ready to defend Artemis in a heartbeat.

It was not from physical harm he was trying to defend Artemis –he was trying to keep the withdrawn assassin from being victimized in a different way. People encroached upon Entreri's space without even realizing it, and the assassin couldn't handle individuals coming up to him, trying to engage him and draw him out of his shell all day, even just for simple conversations. Being part of a group seemed to give Artemis a headache.

It concerned Jarlaxle. The drow saw that most people were group creatures, comforted by numbers instead of solitude. That meant to him that Artemis was unhappy.

Also, he wanted Artemis to be part of a group so he could have his own comfort level of people. It wasn't like him to limit himself to interacting with a single individual. It was a bit of a bend to concentrate on Artemis all the time. He felt a bit like the cocked string of a bow.

Nevertheless, Jarlaxle cleared his head and put away his aspirations of the man Artemis could be. The mercenary could see that what Artemis needed most was for him to have a constant person around who he trusted. Once he found out that his trust wasn't misplaced, someone would actually stand by him, he wouldn't be so afraid, so easily unbalanced by anything that happened to him. Jarlaxle wanted to be the person that stabilized Artemis. He wanted to catch Artemis whenever the assassin fell so many times that the Calishite would _have_ to face that he had a friend in this world.

"How much for the cheese, bread, and dates?" Jarlaxle asked, smiling brilliantly at the food vendor.

The vendor tallied it up, looking at the packages and bobbing his head to some internal rhythm of counting, scribbling on his notepad with a pencil.

They exchanged goods, Jarlaxle's coin for the tallied packages, and Jarlaxle gave a nod and a half-bow so as not to lose his grip on his purchases. "Thank you very much. It was a pleasure doing business with you." With a friendly wave, he started off towards the display that had caught his eye all along – racks and racks of brightly sparkling jewelry. He did so love jewelry.

_It's pity that Entreri seems lacking in the desire for more ornamentation, because the man could use it,_ Jarlaxle thought. _I wonder if I could get him to wear something if I made it a gift. He wears the hat I gave him… Perhaps he just needs a little nudge in the right direction. _

"Good afternoon," he said, tipping his hat to the jewelry merchant's assistant. The boy was a thin, scrawny specimen of the human race with dusty brown skin and high cheekbones that made his eyes look larger than they actually were. He found himself feeling a bit sorry for this merchant-in-training.

As he was examining a fine necklace of rubies, large, square cut things in silver settings, he found his mind wandering back to Artemis. He just couldn't get Artemis off his mind – it was no surprise, really, because he was Jarlaxle's pet project of the times, but still, he felt that he shouldn't feel, perhaps, so bad that he was distracted from the beauty of a wonderful ruby necklace. When he looked up and saw a breathtaking necklace of blue pearls, he felt similarly queasy and dissatisfied with the spurt of possessiveness tickling the inside of his chest. He felt…almost…petty.

_What a horrible thing to have happen,_ Jarlaxle thought, scowling indignantly to himself.

_And yet,_ he reminded himself, his expression smoothing out to that of thoughtfulness, _this is the same preoccupation that I have experienced ever since meeting the famed assassin._

Artemis was some leftover of someone else's mess that the mercenary had salvaged – because it was obvious to Jarlaxle that someone had ruined him so completely that he spent his entire life trying to rebuild who he thought he was. He had been doing that and failing when Jarlaxle met him, and at least in part, that was why Jarlaxle had tried to hard to show some covert mercy towards the assassin.

The mercenary couldn't help thinking that Entreri had been hurt in ways that he had not been for years when Jarlaxle had kept him in Menzoberranzan. Jarlaxle had always told himself that it was worth it – that Artemis' way of rebuilding was wrong, and had to be torn down before the mercenary could help him build back up in the right direction.

He thought about it like breaking a bone that set improperly. Except in this case it was Entreri's personality that healed improperly. Realigning it was a good thing, wasn't it? But it could only be done by breaking Artemis as swiftly and precisely as possible – and Jarlaxle felt that he had done that. Artemis was healing up, so to speak, from his intervention, and the assassin was healing nicely. He had to keep people from interfering as he oversaw this process of recovery.

That was most of the reason he had found such a dislike in his heart for the priest Cadderly – a man who under different circumstances, Jarlaxle simply would have called misguided. Because his work with Artemis was threatened, his guard had gone up, and in the end, that was why he chose to come along anyway, even when he would rather not have faced a red dragon. Just as he'd thought that it wouldn't matter one way or the other, Artemis had opened up to him – a discussion on religion, no less! – and shown him that truly, his friend was changing and his intervention was able to help the assassin. He couldn't imagine what might have happened if he had left his friend in the tender clutches of that Deneir-worshipping fanatic and his ignorant companions.

Jarlaxle sighed. No, actually, he could imagine. He would ask where Entreri was when Cadderly, Danica, and the Bouldershoulder twins returned from defeating the Crystal Shard, and Cadderly and his beautiful monk wife would exchange glances before saying innocently that Artemis died a noble death. 'Surprising, for an assassin,' Danica would remark. 'I almost would have thought that he actually cared about honor. He defended me when drow showed up and tried to kill us. Of course, he was foolish, like most villains, so he died at his hands, but not before ensuring my safety.' And then Jarlaxle would have had to burn The Spirit Soaring down to let them know how he felt. That would be a pity, since he thought it was such a beautiful building, and he normally liked to preserve beautiful things.

He smiled again at the necklaces and the jewelry merchant's assistant, inspecting the coils of sparkling gems and taking in the beauty of them all. Their renewed radiance now that his mood had lifted twinkled back at him fondly, a warm rainbow of things just waiting to be possessed.

-----------------

The feeling of being cold was one that, in spite of the assassin's attempts to banish it, lingered. Irritated and confused by his sentimentality, he got to his feet and brushed off the sand clinging to his clothing. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he wanted to find Jarlaxle.

He didn't have to look far. Jarlaxle was partway into the crescent shape of the parked caravans, back turned but still ridiculously easy to spot in his purple hat and rainbow colored cape.

He ventured back into the main camp, glancing around as he did so and noticing that the sellswords were at work polishing their armor, maintaining their weapons, and using other skills to prolong their equipment. He hardly expected one of them to break away from the little group by the fire and approach him. He stopped, as any reasonable person would do, when barred by an obstacle that happened to be a living, breathing person. It was the Calishite boy. The child smiled, no more than a nervous twitch of his lips, really, and bowed.

Artemis wanted nothing more than to leave. He could see Jarlaxle, talking to somebody, but he couldn't get to his partner while this boy blocked his way.

"I am Kalashiko," the Calishite boy said, looking at him with anxious eyes.

"Greetings," Artemis muttered.

However, the young sellsword seemed to be prepared for his grumpiness. "I want to tell you how much your story –"

_What story?_ Artemis thought, missing the rest of what the youth was trying to say to him. _The damned Drizzt story? What is he talking about?_ He glared. "Look, I didn't tell any story to give you advice, give you pointers on how to love your life, or volunteer myself as some kind of outlet for every single problem that plagues your adolescent life."

"But you have helped me so much," Kalashiko protested. "I was too afraid to rely on myself and my abilities in order to –"

Artemis interrupted, "Boy, I am not a philosopher. Whatever you do is your choice."

"Yes!" the young sellsword said, bobbing his head eagerly. "I understand that now! My fate is in my own hands, and –"

_What am I not understanding?_ Artemis thought in frustration. _Why does he not just go away? _He decided to be direct and asked with a sigh, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I wanted to share you – I mean, you – my gratitude with you," the other Calishite stammered. "My mother was a sick woman who passed away last year, and my father was a –"

"You're welcome," Artemis said, staring at him. The assassin didn't think he could stand to hear any more about this boy's life. He would go insane if he had to hear about the boy's parents, and he definitely did not want to hear sob stories about mothers dying and fathers abandoning their sons. He wondered why Jarlaxle had not noticed his predicament and swooped in to rescue him yet.

He almost groaned when the youth reached out and clasped his forearm in thanks. The assassin averted his eyes from this display. _Somebody help me._

_Let me eat him,_ Charon's Claw said.

Artemis directed a silent yell of irritation at it. _No! Shut up, already!_

Then the assassin heard a voice in his ear. "Hello, Artemis. Who is your little friend?" Of course. Jarlaxle _would _just show up to mock him.

"Kalashiko," Artemis said, and reluctantly glanced at the Calishite sellsword's reaction to Jarlaxle stepping into this.

The sellsword went wide-eyed, and gazed at them both with naked awe on his face.

Artemis didn't think he'd ever felt a more desperate urge to stab himself.

Jarlaxle chuckled, and placed a hand on Artemis' arm as Kalashiko had been doing only moments ago. "I am pleased to meet you, Kalashiko," the dark elf mercenary said, tipping his hat to the boy, "but I am afraid it is about time that I and Artemis left. We have a lot of work to do." He winked. "More people to inspire and many places to go." He grinned. "I am sure we will see you around sometime." He began to lead Artemis away, waving cheerfully to the stunned and openmouthed boy before turning around and conversing with the assassin on the way to their tethered horses.

"My thanks," Artemis said, finally letting out a heavy sigh. The hand next to his vampiric dagger twitched.

Jarlaxle let out an amused, affectionate chuckle. "Indeed, I didn't do it for you, I was afraid that if I let that go on for another few minutes the boy would end up dead." The dark elf mercenary teased, "You looked ready to commit a murder." The mercenary untied their horses. "What was he doing, anyway? Praising you?"

"You have no idea," Artemis muttered, mounting his horse and noticing that a great deal many more parcels were tied to it.

Jarlaxle couldn't suppress another laugh. "What is so bad about that? I know that you detest fawning, but he seemed truthful enough –"

"Truthfulness is not the point," Artemis said. "The point is that he should stand on his own and not cling to other peoples' ramblings to get him through his problems. It's weak, and it's misguided. He assumes he knows me before he even takes a good look at me, and takes words to heart before he considers what their purpose and veracity is."

Jarlaxle looked at him curiously. "Why are you so hard on him? He is but a child."

"Shut up," Artemis said wearily. "And never mind. Let's get to a town by nightfall and sleep in a real bed tonight." He felt pain, real and aching pain that coursed through him and seemed to make his bones groan like aging beams. He wanted it off, to shut it off as if it were as easy as tightening a spigot. But he knew it wasn't. He knew that his nap had done no good, that he was disturbed by what he had concluded about Jarlaxle's past, and that he had opened himself up to this kind of pain. He should have kept the memories where they belonged. In the past. Where they had no value, and no ability to harm him. Instead, he had allowed himself to relive something, and it was attacking him.

--------------------------

The next time they stopped, it was for a rest before traveling to the place they would spend their evening. It was also the place and time when Jarlaxle pounced on him. They stopped as the sun's intensity diminished and the wind picked up in a lush grass grove created by the way the land gently sloped downward, collecting more rainwater to it than the surrounding parched desert. Artemis was glad that they had found a merchant caravan if only so that Jarlaxle could buy food.

The two of them were camped around a small fire pit, supposedly enjoying the quiet chirp of cicadas when Artemis paused mid-swallow in a mouthful of cheese (the kind _he_ liked, thank you very much) and bread to see Jarlaxle staring at him. He half expected the mercenary to look away now that the dark elf had been caught in the act, but instead Jarlaxle only seemed to deepen his expression of scrutiny and widen his visible eye at Artemis a little.

"What?" Artemis looked at the gaze Jarlaxle was giving him and scowled. "What is it?"

"You look troubled," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis sighed. "That is because, my very obvious and sometimes annoying friend, I am troubled." He crossed his arms. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to be troubled without being stared at by my traveling companion."

"You don't have to be troubled at all," Jarlaxle said, a smile spreading across his face. "Bothered by me or otherwise. I can solve your problems."

"Since when do you care about solving my problems?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow incredulously. He didn't know what had gotten into Jarlaxle, but he wasn't sure that he liked the idea of Jarlaxle getting any closer to him than the elf was already. Jarlaxle looked ready to cross the campfire and sit by him or something.

"Since I am your friend and you agreed to travel with me," Jarlaxle said.

_It was you who agreed to travel with me without any invitation and you who decided that you were going to be my friend without asking me if I wanted one,_ Artemis wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Saying that would accomplish absolutely nothing. "Well, I don't need your help," he said instead. "I am perfectly content to be miserable."

"Oh, but I must insist," Jarlaxle said, raising an index finger with a patient smile. "I am your friend, and if I wish to retain that title, I must help you whether you ask me to or not."

"I think that's a rather twisted interpretation of friendship," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle remained smiling, with that same air of untouchable confidence he assumed in the face of obstruction as he always did. "You do?"

Artemis ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. Why do you choose these awkward moments to start repeating anything I say?" He didn't know why he said that, except that Jarlaxle's bluntness was somewhat infectious. He supposed he did it just to hear the response Jarlaxle would come up with.

"I like making you elaborate on everything you say so you can't get away with stymieing me with gibberish," Jarlaxle said, smirking as though he just loved the opportunity to explain himself in that situation.

Artemis stared at him. "Stymie you with gibberish."

The dark elf mercenary laughed at the expression on his face. "Now who's repeating ourselves?"

"Does it really matter that much?" Artemis asked, shifting and looking uncomfortable. He had never had someone ask such repeated, insistent requests to know what was on his mind. It felt out of place_. Is he trying to manipulate me? But why? For what purpose?_ He put his head in his hand and let a sigh burst out of him. He didn't know. He couldn't think of anything. There were no plans, as far as he was concerned, about which Jarlaxle was worried, that required knowing what bothered Artemis. It didn't work that way for drow, anyway. They didn't need other peoples' concerns to form plans.

Jarlaxle leaned forward and nodded, his face attentive.

Artemis felt oddly put on the spot. He shifted again. "You don't need me," he began, but Jarlaxle was already shaking his head.

"Of course I need you," Jarlaxle said. "You're my partner. Business wouldn't be the same without you."

The assassin started again, "I meant that you need not concern yourself with matters only affecting my wellbeing." He held his hands out. "They don't affect you, and I make sure that they do not impact you or your business. There is no _reason_ for you to know."

"And there is more to our relationship than business," Jarlaxle said. "Please. Tell me what troubles you. I promise that I will not make you regret it. I will be a good listener."

_You can't possibly replace Dwahvel,_ Artemis wanted to say, but he didn't say that, either. He was conscious that it would hurt Jarlaxle's feelings, and he didn't want to do that right now. He saw that Jarlaxle was trying, in the capacity Jarlaxle understood best, to be his friend the way Dwahvel had been – to the dark elf, it was like posing a business deal. He felt a pang of longing for his halfling friend, and her understanding that whatever they had, it was not nor could it be dictated by the conduct of business. It was something else, and perhaps something extra. He knew that if Dwahvel were here, he would tell her. Therefore, he made the conscious decision to give Jarlaxle a chance – _but only one,_ he said sternly to himself – to prove himself worthy of reliance. "Alright," he sighed, "I will tell you – but keep your mouth shut until I am finished, and do not even think of interrupting me in the middle. I am sick of your chattering."

Jarlaxle beamed. It seemed, like always, that the mercenary only heard the part he had wanted to hear in the first place.

"Don't think that I haven't lived a fulfilling life," Artemis said, "because I have. But what price have I paid? What price have I given up to come this far?" He clenched his fists. "I have done battle with the 'great' Drizzt Do'Urden, not once but many times, and every time, through some circumstance, I have come out alive. Not even other dark elves can attest to that. It is not only an achievement, it is a personal measure. I once thought that what it meant was that I was not 'great' enough." He shook his head. "In that measure, I could never be great enough to allow myself to exist. That I have learned since Do'Urden's death. If I am to justify my existence, what I really mean is that I believe it best never to have lived at all; and if I say that, then I may as well die.

"But I do not want to die. I want to live. And I want to live with a purpose." He held out his hands. His gray eyes were intense. "If I am to wait for a purpose to find me, I might wait forever and never find one. But how do I seek out a purpose, knowing that in the meantime, I have none? I am seeking without purpose, Jarlaxle, and I am feeling more and more with the passing of every day that it is hopeless. I have given up so much to be on this road, but what have I gained in return? You would agree that for every investment there has to be a reward. I ask you, Jarlaxle, what is my reward?"

Jarlaxle was shaking his head. "I cannot tell you that. You must find it out for yourself."

"But the things that I have given up. Do you not understand? You never had a childhood!"

Jarlaxle opened his mouth in protest, but then shut it again, remembering in the midst of his bewilderment that he had promised to be silent. He had already spoken once. He didn't suppose Artemis would forgive him for speaking again.

"Did you never wonder what brought me to this state?" Artemis gestured at his own body, at his cloak, and at his hair, at his light leather armor and at the weapons on his belt. "I did not choose to be an assassin!"

This revelation had Jarlaxle blinking at him rapidly and trying not to betray his thoughts. _I say you have a choice – you just didn't know it at the time, my friend. I can't believe you didn't have a choice, and if you did become an assassin unwillingly, there have been ample places to stop._ He almost wanted to say that in his mind, Artemis had stopped being an assassin already – had stopped when he was part of Bregan D'aerthe, a human spy in the underbelly of Menzoberranzan. But he didn't. He didn't say any of these things.

"It would have been different if you hadn't been there," Artemis said, and he looked brooding, as if he were speaking to himself. His eyes were dark and flashing. "It would have been different. That is the answer."

But then he shook his head, the mask of stoicism falling from his face in that moment and revealing a troubled expression. "No. It is me. I should not have been there. I never should have been embroiled in that plot."

Jarlaxle couldn't contain himself now that Artemis wasn't making any sense. "What 'plot'?"

Artemis snapped his head up and looked at the dark elf mercenary as if he'd forgotten Jarlaxle was sitting there. Then he grated out, "The plot to take over Basadoni's guild."

"I – That was inevitable, wasn't it?" Jarlaxle asked. He was honestly confused.

Now the assassin was angry, curling his hands into hard fists, his expression cut down to the core of a man carrying a secret source of self-hatred – and then just as quickly it was gone.

"I've killed a lot of people, but I can't say I'm sorry," Artemis said. "I am sure I have made mistakes that people can punish me for…" The assassin narrowed his eyes. "But who is to do the punishing? Who can say they've done any better than I can? I have tried my best, and I cannot claim to do anything else."

There. There it was. His speech was over, and he had finally gotten it out of his chest, where it had continued to hurt him for all this time, crushing his heart and playing his discomfort against him. He had confided, and now he waited almost defiantly to see what Jarlaxle would do. He was angry, and he was ready to turn around and march away from Jarlaxle forever with a parting shot: _There, you see, you can't be Dwahvel, can you? Because of you, now we've pushed our relationship too far, and we have to see each other never again. _

Jarlaxle sat perfectly still, at once looking as though he wanted to cross the invisible border between them and give some kind of comfort to his friend, and then looking as though he didn't know where to begin.

Entreri saw this, and for some reason, he felt obligated to ease this barrier. _Opening the door,_ he thought, calling back to his discussion about Jarlaxle's culpability in the sabotage of any relationships the drow could hope to have. His anger, which he had expected to last, was draining away. What was left, at the very bottom of the proverbial pit, was the desire he didn't know he'd had: to make this friendship work.

He didn't know what made him ask this particular question. "Who was the first person you killed that you were close to?"

"My niece," Jarlaxle said, smiling in pain as though through subdued grief at the memory. "I was very fond of her."

That was more of a response than Artemis was expecting, and it was such a direct one that he found himself at a loss for words. A small part of him responded with eagerness, a hope that since the mercenary had admitted it, they might find answers together. "Then…Why did you do it?" Being gentle was not customary for him, but he tried. He strove to take the accusation out of his words.

Jarlaxle looked up at him strangely. A moment passed before his expression changed, seeming to assess Artemis' words as no threat. "It was the Test of Lloth."

---

"What are you doing, Uncle?" she said, surprised at his sudden appearance and the daggers in both of his hands.

"I think you should ask Lloth that," Jarlaxle replied with an amiable smile, readying for battle by shifting his stance. "You're her priestess, after all."

_Kill him!_ Lloth's voice suddenly rang in her mind. She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth and stumbling back. She lost her balance and sat down hard on the ground. "What did you _do_?" she cried, horror showing on her face that Jarlaxle had betrayed Lloth somehow and had to be put to death like a common traitor.

"Nothing," the drow mercenary said. He waited patiently for her to understand the situation. "I have been selected to participate in your little coming of age ritual."

Ignorance and fear warred in her blue eyes.

Jarlaxle saw that he was intimidating her and relaxed, sheathing the daggers at his belt. He held out a hand to her, and she took it, struggling to get back on her feet again. The drow mercenary gave her a kindly smile. "I have to fight you, my dear, and you have to at least try to fight me back."

_You always did have to do things your way, didn't you_, Lloth said in his head, sounding a little like a peeved cat.

_Oh, bugger off_, Jarlaxle responded casually, shoving her out of his mind in order to concentrate on his niece.

He smiled and held up an index finger coaxingly. "It'll be fun! And if you win, you get to go on to become one of the most powerful priestesses in Menzoberranzan! Don't you want to be famous?"

He elicited a little, reluctant nod from her. Then she frowned, scowled at him, and shook her head. "What happens to _you_?" she demanded.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "I'll have to shove off and die, of course." She stared disbelievingly at his ever-calm demeanor.

"But you don't look scared a bit!" she protested. "How can you not tell the truth now and be a little scared?"

"Because I don't play fair," he whispered through his smile. He held her comfortingly as she collapsed into his arms, feeling the poisoned dart in her back.

"How did that…?" She stirred weakly, reaching behind to pull it out, and then she was gone. She sagged lifelessly in his arms, almost peacefully dead.

_You have won, and she should have known better_, Lloth said. _I grant you your life, Baenre Jarlaxle._

"Oh, shut up and leave me alone," Jarlaxle said, stroking his niece's tender cheek and smoothing down her hair. "I intended to wait until you were gone before I started crying and now you've ruined it." True to his words, there was a single tear sliding down his cheek, against his control and already escaped to fall free.

---

"…and ever since then I tried not to get to know my sisters and nieces," Jarlaxle said shrugging. "It made things too hard when they had to go through that stage. I stood a chance of being chosen as Lloth's dupe again if they ever reached their ceremonies."

"But you figured it out," Artemis pointed out.

"And it didn't help me," Jarlaxle said. "I still had to kill her. It was not a pretty sight. She had always been a pretty girl, and then she was just a pretty corpse. Useless." His hands were clenched. "It served no purpose. She would have become great. I cannot respect someone who squanders greatness the way Lloth does."

Artemis hesitated, and then put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"She was a sweet girl," Jarlaxle said. "So smart, but so sweet. If she hadn't been half as nice, she never would have been killed. She didn't raise a single spell against me, Artemis. She just stood there. And I planted the dart in her back when I helped her up." He closed his eyes, and sat there, seeming to condemn himself. "I killed her." He opened his eyes and made a watery smile - one that might even look normal on another's face, Entreri knew, but would never look normal to anyone who had seen what smiles Jarlaxle was capable of.

"Oh, stop sniveling," Artemis said. He didn't know why he said that. One minute he was sitting there being uncomfortable but supportive, and the next he was turning away and trying to distance himself from his dark elf friend. He silently cursed himself at Jarlaxle's reaction and wondered how he let that stupid little comment slip out of his mouth. What had set him off, anyway? What had been so the blazing hells' important that he had to go and say that?

The mercenary's eyes became cold, even as his smile widened, and he tossed his head in a lofty manner. "Hmph." He waved a heavily be-ringed finger. "I do not know what… _lies_, you have heard about the dark elf race, but contrary to popular belief, Drow do _not_ snivel." He stuck his nose up in the air and composed a haughty smile. "We may murder babies – oh yes, we may kill our own children – but, haha! – We do not snivel!"

His odd little scene apparently over, Jarlaxle sighed and got to his feet. "_L' bwael el waelin. Xor doera verin_." He glanced over at Artemis' curious expression and smiled. "It's a Drow phrase. It means 'The good die young. Or become evil.'" He smiled sadly. "She died young." He started to continue walking down the road.

Artemis stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder again. Jarlaxle paused, but did not turn around. "What was her name?"

"Na'Geirishgaloth," Jarlaxle said, turning around and grinning.

The sudden transformation disgruntled Artemis, thinking perhaps that the sorrow had been an act. "Anything else?"

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin. "We called her Nagei for short." He turned and began marching, swinging his arms at his sides, and this time, his spirits seemed to be returned.

Artemis considered his actions and his words carefully, and, as the assassin watched him strolling back to their horses, the Calishite found some kind of hidden truth. Jarlaxle had been happier after he had related his story. After Artemis had said something solicitous. Was it his offer of comfort that had invigorated Jarlaxle so? How was his stiff show of sympathy such a reward for opening up with an obviously painful story? He didn't understand, but he did know as he followed Jarlaxle to their horses that he had been paid some kind of convoluted compliment, if only he could figure out how it went.

-----------------------------

As it turned out, he had opened the door holding back the flood. The entire time they were setting up camp, and when Artemis retreated to his bedroll to sleep, his dark elf mercenary friend was unrelentingly chattering at him. It wasn't even about important things, as it had been earlier that day. It was about _everything_. The _world_ was Jarlaxle's topic. Eventually, Artemis rolled onto his side facing away from the elf, trying to signal that this conversation had to end, and shut his eyes, determined to sleep through this assault on his ears.

Finally, he was forced to say something – the last resort in a long line of deterrents to the conversation continuing even in pitch black darkness and the mercenary's own preparation for bed. Artemis rubbed his eyes. "Can you shut up now? I am trying to go to sleep."

Jarlaxle smiled. "I was just waiting for you to go to bed."

"Why?" He was trying to ignore the utter ridiculousness of that statement.

The drow mercenary shrugged, still smiling. His form was barely visible in the near-nonexistent light of the tent interior. "Because I wanted to know when you were tired."

Entreri opened both eyes and sat up. "_Why_?"

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Because I wanted to know when you would pass out so that I could –"

The assassin sat all the way up and gripped his sleeping bag with white-knuckled hands. "You're sleeping on the other side of the tent tonight."

"But I – " Jarlaxle laughed, confused and not trying to hide it.

Artemis didn't bother to explain. The anger on his face showed clearly. "Am I going to have to sleep outside?"

"No," Jarlaxle said, picking up his belongings and moving across the tent with a perplexed expression on his face. "Of course not. I would never –"

"Then good night." Artemis lay back down and went to sleep.

--------------------------------

If Artemis was considering what transpired between the two of them yesterday, then Jarlaxle wasn't going to disturb him, for he found his own thoughts wandering to that very subject as well. It was the assassin's response to his story that had so surprised him. He had expected dismissal, perhaps in the form of a reminder to keep traveling, or silence. Instead, Entreri, who had seemed offended by physical contact, actually sought it out in the form of placing his hand on Jarlaxle's shoulder. That was enormous. Jarlaxle knew that he should be honored, and he was.

These events also led the mercenary to an unexpected conclusion. _Perhaps the time is right to tell him of Drizzt's survival, now._ _He has only rewarded me for speaking openly. Perhaps he will do so again- and perhaps the value he attaches to this act of openness will keep him from retaliating – perhaps it will outweigh his anger with me for concealing that his foe lives. _

When they stopped for the first rest of the day, he approached his assassin friend with a deal.

"I'll trade honesty for honesty," the dark elf said. He held out his hand.

Artemis hesitated, then took it.

"I didn't do what you thought I did with Drizzt," Jarlaxle said. He looked away, and then looked into Artemis' eyes. "I couldn't keep him that way. I had to fix him up. He had friends. They watched him get killed and they cared enough to kill me for it." He put his hand on his heart. "I couldn't let them down by letting Drizzt die."

"What makes you think I _wanted_ him to die?" Artemis asked, his eyes glinting. He couldn't help it, he had to feel as though Jarlaxle had missed the entire point. "He had done nothing to die, and I had lost. Miserably, lost. Defeated. A defeated man does not _deserve_ to kill his opponent." He gestured in front of himself with his hands angrily. "I had nothing to do with his 'death' – that was _your_ doing, your solution for my defeat! I have never allowed myself to take the spoils of a victory that was not rightfully mine." He narrowed his eyes at his friend and remembered the death by beheading he had wished upon this gaudily dressed dark elf. He wasn't about to ask for that wish to be fulfilled, but he still wasn't pleased.

Jarlaxle clasped his hands behind his back and milled about uncomfortably. "You won't fight him again, will you?"

The assassin felt a headache coming on. Of all the things to grasp about the situation, the drow immediately jumped to the fact that he had a history of behaving irrationally to deceptions. "How many times do I have to say so?" Artemis asked, sighing in exasperation. "Yes: I'm through worrying about him."

Jarlaxle's face lit up with such an expression that Artemis realized that his friend had been truly worried this whole time. It gave him an odd feeling. This contradicted his feeling only moments ago that Jarlaxle had been merely toying with him by coming out and confessing this hidden part of his scheme two years ago. "What about what you want from me in exchange?"

Jarlaxle smiled, his eyes warm. "You can tell me later." He started walking to their tethered horses, then waved a hand. "Come on. We have much riding to do."

Artemis stared after him. _Was it just a ruse, then, to get me to hear what he wanted to say?_ _Or was he planning to make me admit something, and then at the last moment decided I didn't have to? _Which would be more surprising? The assassin didn't know. Either one was beyond the range of what he could have thought possible for Jarlaxle. In either case, it meant that Jarlaxle had given something to him without asking to be given something back. It was disorienting.

One matter stuck out to him in this event: Jarlaxle had told the truth about something. About his motives, Artemis couldn't care less. He could only imagine that his mercenary friend was explaining out of guilt, out of the fact he chattered too much, or out of a conception that Artemis wouldn't believe him without stocking a motive for the act. The thing that remained was that Jarlaxle had told Artemis that Drizzt was alive, and that the mercenary was clearly nervous about it, and he told Artemis anyway even though there might be grave consequences for him.

That was an amount of respect from someone that the assassin was not used to – he was used to having no respect at all until he demonstrated his killing abilities and his willingness to conquer obstacles in order to do it. Jarlaxle had not feared that Artemis would kill him. The mercenary had silenced the topic completely until he was sure that he would never have to talk to Artemis about it. The dark elf _faced_ prosecution by telling Artemis about it. There was no gain to be had from telling, and much more gain to be had from glossing it over indefinitely.

Or so Artemis had thought. In fact, that had been the basis of his theory that Jarlaxle was dropping hints out of guilt to avoid _ever_ saying that he had spared Drizzt directly. Now he had said it, and Artemis did not know what was going on in Jarlaxle's mind any longer.

He liked it that way, he realized as he followed Jarlaxle to the horses and readied for another long ride.


	5. What He Had Hoped For

**Chapter 5**

What He Had Hoped For

-----------------------------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_Entreri held no illusions that Rai-guy and Kimmuriel, or their henchmen, had been caught in that catastrophe. They were too quick and too cunning. He could only hope that the wreckage had diverted them long enough for he and Jarlaxle to get far enough away. He didn't know the extent of his wounds, but he knew that they hurt badly, and that he felt very weak. The last thing he needed then was another fight with the wizard and psionicist or with a swordsman as skilled as Berg'inyon Baenre. _

_Fortunately, no pursuit became evident as the minutes turned to an hour, and both horses and riders had to slow to a stop, fully exhausted. In his head, Entreri heard the chanting promises of Crenshinibon, whispering to him to construct another tower then and there for shelter and rest._

_He almost did it and wondered for a moment why he was even thinking of disagreeing with the Crystal Shard, whose methods seemed to lead to the very same goals he now held himself. _

_With a smile of comprehension that seemed more like a grimace to the pained assassin, Entreri dismissed the notion. Crenshinibon was clever indeed, sneaking always around the edges of opposition. _

_Besides, Artemis Entreri had not run away from Dallabad Oasis into the open desert unprepared. He slipped down from his horse, to find that he could hardly stand. Still, he managed to slip his backpack off his shoulders and drop it to the ground before him, then drop to one knee and pull at the strings._

_Jarlaxle was soon beside him, helping him to open the pack._

_"A potion," Entreri explained, swallowing hard, his breathing becoming labored._

_Jarlaxle fiddled around in the pack, producing a small vial with a bluish-white liquid within. "Healing?" he asked. _

_Entreri nodded and motioned for it._

_Jarlaxle pulled it back. "You have much to explain," he said. "You attacked me, and you gave them the Crystal Shard."_

_Entreri, his brow thick with sweat, motioned again for the potion. He put his hand to his side and brought it back up, wet with blood. "A fine throw," he said to the dark elf._

_"I do not pretend to understand you, Artemis Entreri," said Jarlaxle, handing over the potion. "Perhaps that is why I do so enjoy your company."_

_Entreri swallowed the liquid in one gulp, and fell back to a sitting position, closing his eyes and letting the soothing concoction go to work mending some of his wounds. He wished he had about five more of the things, but this one would have to suffice – and would, he believed, keep him alive and start him on the mend. _

_Jarlaxle watched him for a few moments, and turned his attention to a more immediate problem, glancing up at the stinging, blistering sun. "This sunlight will make for our deaths," he remarked. _

_In answer, Entreri shifted over and stuck his hand into his backpack, soon producing a small scale model of a brown tent. He brought it up close, whispered a few words, and tossed it off to the side. A few seconds later, the model expanded, growing to full-size and beyond. _

_"Enough!" Entreri said when it was big enough to comfortably hold him, the dark elf, and both of their horses. _

_"Not so hard to find on the open desert," Jarlaxle remarked._

_"Harder than you believe," Entreri, still gasping with every word, assured him. "Once we're inside, it will recede into a pocket dimension of its own making." _

_Jarlaxle smiled. "You never told me you possessed such a useful desert tool," he said._

_"Because I did not, until last night."_

_"Thus, you knew that it would come to this, with us out running in the open desert," the mercenary leader reasoned, thinking himself sly. _

_Far from arguing the point, Entreri merely shrugged as Jarlaxle helped him to his feet. "I hoped it would come to this," the assassin said. _

_Jarlaxle looked at him curiously, but didn't press the issue. Not then. He looked back in the direction of distant Dallabad, obviously wondering what had become of his former lieutenants, wondering how all of this had suddenly come about. It was not often that the cunning Jarlaxle was confused. _

(217-219)

* * *

They encountered road signs for the first time the next day. A broad smile spread over Jarlaxle's face as he considered them. "At last, my friend, we near civilization."

"Mmn," Artemis said. He didn't really have anything to add to that. Except that he did want some clean clothing. Where there were towns, there was water, and that meant many things to him: baths, laundry, and beds.

Jarlaxle dismounted to lie in the grass on top of a gentle hillside by the sign. "We must discuss our strategy!"

Artemis dismounted as well, thinking that at the least, they could give their horses a rest.

Jarlaxle let out a satisfied sigh and jumped to his feet.

"What was that for?" Artemis asked.

The mercenary favored him with a brilliant smile. "I just wanted to bask in the glorious, thick grass and stare up at the sky."

"Right." The assassin didn't bother to hide his sentiment that Jarlaxle was particularly insane today. "What is your strategy?"

"This time, I get to be Drizzt Do'Urden!" Jarlaxle said, raising an index finger.

"Fine. Who am I, then?" Artemis asked. He didn't protest because he assumed that Jarlaxle couldn't possibly be serious. Every previous attempt to be Drizzt had met with disaster. He was convinced that being surrounded by wood elves and insulted by Shayleigh would be enough dissuasion.

"You're Guenhwyvar, of course!" Jarlaxle started pacing, gesticulating as he spoke. "I'll just tell them that Guenhwyvar turned into a human because he really wasn't a panther after all but some human cursed to be a panther and linked to a figurine because of his –"

Artemis interrupted, "Guenhwyvar is a female spirit."

Jarlaxle stopped mid stride and looked him curiously. "How do you know?"

The assassin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Have you ever seen that thing? It has to be female to be so hormonal about defending Drizzt."

Jarlaxle tapped his chin. "I'll just say you're Catti-brie, then, and that you arranged a sex change."

Artemis stared. "No."

"Well, you can't be Regis or Wulfgar," Jarlaxle said. He frowned.

"Why not?"

Jarlaxle gave him a look. "You're not three feet tall, and you're not six feet tall. You're disqualified both times. However, Catti-brie is about your height, and it is conceivable that she would wear an elaborate disguise."

"Why?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Because she wants to be treated like a man. She acts like a man already." He sighed. "A great deal of beauty all wasted on a life of fighting and making love to Drizzt, who is nothing more than a soft philosophical pansy who wants to cry over almost everything. It's a shame." He shook his head. "I have never seen anything more disgraceful than their whiny, passive courtship."

Artemis felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. "What? How do you know they make love?"

Jarlaxle cackled and put some distance between himself and his companion.

"You're disgusting," Artemis said.But then he just shook his head.

_Jarlaxle spies on everything_, the assassin admitted. He thought it was a chronic habit of the mercenary. The dark elf wasn't malicious, just curious, and when people didn't volunteer information, Jarlaxle got nosy and arranged for someone to find the information for him.

"But the fact remains, my friend, that you must be Guenhwyvar," Jarlaxle said. He waved his index finger. "It is the most plausible story."

"You call that the most plausible story?"

--------------------------

"There." Jarlaxle pointed. "That looks like a place of sipping."

They stood in the middle of a small, bustling street, Entreri holding the reins of the horses. Artemis groaned at that reference to the fiasco in Tethyr where Kimmuriel and Rai-guy blew up the entire tavern trying to kill them. That comment couldn't be a good omen. Looking at the ramshackle collection of boards nailed together with foreboding, the assassin didn't bother to protest that it looked about as sanitary as rolling in orc blood.

"Remember," Jarlaxle said, holding up an index finger and grinning. "Look pantherly."

Artemis glared. "I could just maul you to get the point across."

The mercenary laughed. "Tut-tut, Guenhwyvar. If you feel that feisty, I might just send you back to the spirit realm from whence you came."

"I have told you. I refuse to play the part of that fool animal in your charade." Artemis glared more insistently, hoping that his resistance would make some impact on his friend's demented plot. On the ride through the fields to this town, he had eventually become convinced that Jarlaxle meant every word he said.

Jarlaxle waved a hand at his protests as though dispelling smoke and marched straight ahead.

The failures of the last time they'd tried this replaying through his head, Artemis found himself hurrying to keep pace with his drow companion. He found the stables to the side of the building and spoke to the scrawny boy standing in entrance. Then he handed off the reins, gave the boy his payment, and went after Jarlaxle.

The drow mercenary glanced over his shoulder as he entered the tavern, seeing his arrival a split second later and smiling at him.

He scowled.

Jarlaxle, of course, went straight up to the bar and sat down, ignoring the immediate stares and hostile silence that heralded his entrance.

Artemis took a seat next to him, hunching his shoulders and feeling like an ass, then glanced around the room to convey his immediate dislike to their peers. The patrons seemed somewhat shaken by this display and quietly began talking again.

Jarlaxle, seeming to notice none of this, spoke to the bartender. "Good day, sir! I am Drizzt Do'Urden. A pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

Artemis deliberately looked the other way and scowled at the wall, studying the banged up bulletin board covered in ragged slips of paper.

"Drizzit Do'Urden, eh?" The dark skinned man stared, slowly looking Jarlaxle up and down. The mercenary sat obediently still and beamed. The man looked somewhat pointedly at Jarlaxle's stylized black and crimson vest, and his color-changing cape. "I think I've heard of ye. Ain't you a ranger? And ain't those clothes awfully fancy for a ranger?"

Jarlaxle seemed to delight in an opportunity to set the bartender straight. "Not at all, good sir! Even those who live among the plants and animals must do so in grace, with style and flair!"

Artemis did not even bother to hide his rancor. "As long as they bring powder to get out the grass stains." Then he smiled a small, humorless smile. "After all, we can't have you looking as though you slept in a forest and cavorted with unicorns when wooing some fair maiden."

Jarlaxle laughed and slapped the bar counter. "What a wild imagination you have, my friend. I don't woo fair maidens. I am Drizzt Do'Urden, defender of the weak, the abused, and the innocent!"

His genuine case of the chuckles made Artemis even more annoyed. The assassin eyed him, planning resistance. "Also the defender of expensive hat makers as it happens, isn't that right?" He shrugged, putting on an insincerely angelic smile. "Perhaps you should add the part about being sponsored by various nobles of Waterdeep. I really think you are being too modest. And what about your romance with Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon?"

Artemis turned to the bartender, intercepting Jarlaxle's denials before he could make them. "My friend likes to keep a low profile. We're here to hide out from his fame and fortune."

Jarlaxle smiled tightly. The expression itself should have been enough to silence the assassin, but Artemis' only response was a gleam entering his gray eyes. "We aren't here to sing my praises. We are here for lunch. What do you say, good sir? Would you be willing to serve some food and wine to my companion and me?"

The bartender took them both in for a moment and raised his eyebrow. "I dunno. You seem a little strange ta me."

Artemis smirked.

"You got companions, right? More than one, I mean. Some dwarf king and his kids, right? Where are the rest of the Companions?"

Artemis relaxed, draping an arm over the counter and letting a catlike smile curl on his lips at the success he was already achieving. His eyes suddenly became mischievous. "We ate them for lunch yesterday." Then he cleared his throat as if he'd misspoken, unable to repress a grin and knowing it would make his words even more disturbing. "My pardon. We last ate lunch with them yesterday. We're parting ways for a while. Too noticeable all as a group, you know."

Jarlaxle shot Entreri a warning look. "Indeed. Even allies need time apart to grow once in a while."

The bartender started wiping the counter with a rag, a few cursory rubs before looking at them again. "Whatever you say. But what are you doing so far south? What business could a famous ranger have down here?"

Artemis avoided the warning in Jarlaxle's eyes, looking away as though he had become distracted. "That is a good question. I don't believe you've quite explained it all to me yet, Drizzt. It all sounds so complicated." He glanced back to see Jarlaxle almost choking at the earnestness in Artemis' words.

Jarlaxle still answered. "Adventure of course! What else do adventurers do but seek out new experiences and help others along the way!" He glanced meaningfully Entreri's way. "This is the essence of who we are, isn't that right, Guen?"

It was Artemis' turn to choke. _I told you not to call me that!_ In the Drow sign language, he flicked the message, _This is revenge, isn't it?_

Then he coughed into a fist. "Ahem. Excuse me. I used to be a cat. I thought I felt a hairball coming on. Luckily, it was a false alarm." He smiled. "Being human has its advantages." He turned to Jarlaxle with a blank expression. "Adventuring? You made it sound more complicated than that, Drizzt. I seem to remember something along the lines of investigating a crypt." He picked the first thing off the top of his head that was a place they didn't want to go, and a place where they would not be welcomed.

Jarlaxle maintained his smile. "Well, yes, the crypt is part of our adventure!"

The bartender, to Artemis' satisfaction, looked alarmed. "Which crypt?" The man narrowed his eyes, getting suspicious again. "No drow need to be going near any crypts in this land." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave them both a look of disapproval.

Jarlaxle started to get out of his seat. "But I'm Drizzt Do—"

The bartender preempted him. "I don't care."

Artemis decided to be cruel. "Oh, you don't need to worry about that. A friend of Bruenor Battlehammer has called us down here to investigate a spiritual disturbance in a gold dwarven crypt. Ancestors are very important to dwarves, you know. They want to keep their ancestors safe." He crossed his arms behind his head, pausing to relish the final stroke of his evil sabotage. "If you don't believe us, Drizzt can show you the letter our friend King Battlehammer received."

Jarlaxle, however, got a gleam in his eyes, and a smug smile leaped to his face. "Why certainly, my furry friend!" He rummaged through a pocket of his vest, pulling out a small blue stone, a quill, a ribbon, and finally a sealed parchment. Artemis stared. Jarlaxle gestured at the piece of paper with triumph. "Into this parchment was written the letter I need!"

The bartender blinked at this odd sentence, but seemed overwhelmed with awe at the other items Jarlaxle had set out on the counter.

Jarlaxle, taking advantage of the moment, broke the seal and showed the blockish script to the man with a flourish. "See?" He set it out enticingly in front of the bartender and held it there, smiling in perfect innocence. "You can read, correct?"

Artemis, narrowing avoiding looking disappointed, tried to figure out how Jarlaxle had beaten him at this game.

The bartender looked abashed, and an embarrassed flush started to settle on his face. "I, uh, well, somewhat." He gave the parchment a cursory glance and frowned. "The writing looks like a dwarf's anyway. Still, wouldn't a ranger's skills be better put to use elsewhere? And wouldn't a dwarf prefer that other dwarves do the guardin'?"

Jarlaxle posed with an empty-headed look lifted so perfectly from Drizzt that Artemis' jaw almost dropped. "Normally, if I were an evil drow with my eyes on the crypt's treasure." A smile broke like dawn over his face. "But I am Drizzt, King Battlehammer's closest friend!"

Artemis, acknowledging his defeat with grace, nodded. "Besides, what treasure could there be in a dwarf's crypt anyway?" He tried to think of how a panther might think. "All they have are old weapons and armor, things like that." _A panther has no use for weapons or armor. _If he couldn't beat Jarlaxle at his game, then he could at least play along at this point and make the most out of working this bartender's ignorance against him.

Jarlaxle's crimson eyes went distant, sent off in a rosy daydream by Artemis' reminder of the wealth dwarves possessed. "Hm? Oh, yes. Quite right."

Artemis didn't know if he was trying to help or hinder. "Stealing another dwarf's weapons or armor would be horrible. It would be the same as if I asked to wear your hat." He shook his head, wiping his face of any trace of humor. "And believe me, I would never do that." He was able to achieve a look of perfect honesty. "I have too much respect for where your hat has been."

Jarlaxle perked up. "Where my hat has been? Then you are admitting how much intelligence, charm, and knowledge I carry around in my head?"

Artemis resisted the urge to comment. The assassin shrugged. "All I am saying is that no one can pick up another dwarf's armor or weapons. It would taint them absolutely, and then the dwarves would have to kill the person responsible to avenge their ancestor's lost heirlooms. In fact, rumors of graverobbers are partly why we have to go." Narrowing his eyes as if a sudden thought occurred to him, he scrutinized the bartender. "Why is it that you have such an interest in our business anyway? You don't know any of these sinful, completely unscrupulous, soulless graverobbers, do you?" He let his lip curl menacingly.

The bartender, suddenly wide eyed, started to sweat. "No, no. Not at all. I'm just not trustin' drow so easily." He held up his hands.

"Normally a wise decision," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis decided not to let the bartender go so easily, enjoying the man's response to his threatening. "But in this case, very insulting." He sniffed. "It's as though you have no faith in the world beyond flat, two dimensional stereotypes." A new thought occurred to him. _If I can't break Jarlaxle, I'll just get to the bartender._

Then, becoming inspired, he turned a glare upon Jarlaxle. "But then, Drizzt himself isn't so good at looking past the stereotypes. He thought that just because I protected him during every single battle, I must be a female panther!" He gestured emphatically. "I ask you: Is that fair?"

The bartender shifted uneasily, put on the spot. "Uh, um, uh, well, no. Not fair. I mean, you're right. Some drow are obviously good. And, er, there was no reason for him to assume you were female."

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow, subdued tartness in his eyes as he smiled. "No, I assumed that based on what I saw when you rolled over to have your tummy scratched."

Artemis visibly restrained himself from drawing his dagger. "Many guardians are eunuchs. It is no laughing matter, _young_ Drizzt." The urge to kill him was pounding in Entreri's veins.

Jarlaxle appeared to sense his very real reaction and held up his hands. "I am merely teasing you. You looked so sexy as a panther, I thought you were female." His earnestness was replaced by contemplative fascination. "Then again, anything sleek and black is sexy." He took off his hat and ran a hand over his head.

Entreri plainly wanted to gag. "That will be quite enough." He decided once more that their argument was finished. As he made that decision, his stomach audibly growled. He looked at the bartender. "And what, pray tell, takes you so long to ask if we are hungry or thirsty or prepare a meal? I could eat two horses and a lamb right now."

The bartender snapped to attention. "Oh! Yes sir! So that's two wines and the house special?"

Jarlaxle held up an index finger. "Best vintage."

Artemis sighed, seconding the sentiment. "Indeed."

"Yes sir! I mean, sirs!" The bartender scurried away at the re-emergence of Artemis' murderous scowl.

Jarlaxle looked at him wryly once the bartender was gone and out of earshot. "You just had to make my cover story harder, didn't you?"

Artemis put on a curious expression, as if he were pondering that very same thing. "Why do you feel that is, Drizzt?" He put his chin in one hand and rested his elbow on the counter.

Jarlaxle looked at him for a moment, and then said, "You really hate my using his name, don't you? Your fight with him is over; why does it bother you so that I take advantage of his 'good' name?"

Artemis' eyes darkened, and he went for the throat, unable to restrain himself. "Perhaps because you have your _own_ good name." He snarled, adding the name at the last moment, "Drizzt." He figured that if he couldn't have his way by having Jarlaxle drop the name forever, he could punish his companion by calling him that forever.

But against all the reactions Artemis had expected his words to get, he saw Jarlaxle consider him carefully. "You think people will accept me as a businessman? Truly?"

_Oh of all the_ – Artemis rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. "If that is who you _are_. You can't keep being a person that you're not. An _idiot_ can sense the change in you when you choose to be false - it's not just me, and it's not just because I know you." The assassin tried to impart the strength of his conviction by staring at his friend hard. "Do you see where we are? Do you think that anyone honestly cares about Drizzt Do'Urden down here? A cover story is no good if you have to explain it, and it is no good if no one believes you anyway."

Jarlaxle smiled. "It was worth a try." He stopped to visibly consider Artemis' words, placing a thoughtful index finger on his bottom lip. "But perhaps you are right. A cover story is worthless if it must be explained. It is not expedient, and it is not efficient." He looked disgruntled by that thought. Artemis couldn't tell if it was his disgust at a good plan going to waste, or if he thought he should have realized that all by himself. "Indeed. Best that I use my natural charm in such situations."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Do you pretend to value what you have so little, or do you truly not see your own appeal?" Then he stopped and stared, unable to believe he just said that. He rubbed his temples with one hand. "Why would you assume that you need to be someone else, anyway?" He growled, both at the onset of his headache, and at his own battle between saying too much and not hammering the concept into Jarlaxle enough. "I thought you were confident enough to stand up to the test of being yourself."

Jarlaxle stood straighter, lighting up with a genuine smile. "Why, thank you. But you err, my friend, in your assumption. I don't use Drizzt's name because I am uncomfortable with being myself, I use it like gold—it's a form of currency to speed up a situation. Pure commerce and nothing more. But as you say, it is useless if I have to explain it or it doesn't work. In truth, I am happiest being me. In fact, I rejoice in being me even in the face of drow restrictions like boring colors and certain hairstyles. So, my friend, do not fear that I would trade my soul for the sake of even expediency."

Artemis was surprised, confused, and a little mollified. Then, realizing he was still looking at Jarlaxle, and probably with a strange expression, he looked away and summoned up a grumble, though he largely had nothing to grumble about anymore. "To my mind 'Drizzt Do'Urden' is more like lead."

Jarlaxle said, "Of course. You don't see him as I see him—a young brat who had the courage to leave a place he hated at the mere age of 30." He winked. "You may hate everything else about him—and I admit that he is too whiny and overwrought for my taste—but he did at least leave that hell hole." The mercenary smiled to himself in a nostalgic way. "I wish—" But then he stopped suddenly. "Ah, well. Let us enjoy our wine."

Artemis glanced up in time to see the bartender returning with their drinks. The man set them down with a nod and left, saying, "Lunch'll be here for you shortly."

Ignoring that grating apology, Artemis slipped a curious glance his friend's way. "Do you really –" But it occurred to him that the last thing he wanted to do was offend Jarlaxle, since his friend had dropped the subject. He tried to feel out whether he should pursue it or drop the matter. "You would have come to the surface eventually even if it wasn't for me, wouldn't you?" He phrased it in such a way that really didn't give Jarlaxle much of an obligation to answer, and, had his pressuring annoyed the mercenary, also gave his friend a way out.

Jarlaxle sipped his wine, no reaction at all registering on his face. "Well, you did provide a golden opportunity. Without you, I couldn't have won the arguments with Kimmuriel and Rai'guy, nor could I have so successfully set up operation. Without you, I—well, let's just say that you gave me the opportunity of a lifetime, my friend." He gave Artemis a sunny smile.

Artemis looked away, not sure how to feel about being an 'opportunity'. He knew that Jarlaxle said he had 'given' an opportunity of a lifetime, but he hadn't given anything. Artemis knew with a sinking sensation in his heart that if he had given at opportunity at all, _he_ was the opportunity. His own vulnerability – his weakness – his near death: that had been the opportunity. The assassin summoned up a sickly smile in return, feeling the mercenary's eyes on him.

He said, more to himself than Jarlaxle, "So leaving when you don't like something is the solution, is it?" He looked around and thought that perhaps running away perhaps caused more problems in the end, and he wasn't sure he liked this place more than any of the other places he'd been.

Jarlaxle answered anyway. "Well, I built everything in Menzoberranzan I dreamt and far more than anyone dared, but in the end I couldn't make 20,000 drow more than they were. They don't dream. Why should I limit my life to their dreariness? They have reached the end of their potential. But you, my friend, have not."

At this point, Artemis started listening instead of letting his feelings stir up more turmoil. "We are much alike, my friend. We seek a world neither of us can quite imagine because the flaws of the world around us are so obvious."

The mercenary placed his palm up. "Given that, why should I travel with anyone else? Why should I seek the company of anyone else? Do you really think I've met another like you? Many male drow are unhappy, but none seek." Jarlaxle smiled, and gestured with an index finger. "We seek. Yes, you too, whether you will acknowledge it or not."

An incredulous, strange little smile twisted Artemis' lips at hearing those words. He turned to face Jarlaxle again, searching for something in the dark elf's eyes. "You really believe that, don't you? That I have more 'potential'?"

Jarlaxle responded in all seriousness and without pause. "Absolutely, my friend. It was the first thing I noticed about you, and you've proven it over and over. Why do you think I sparred with you and none other, and why do you think I enjoyed it so?" He smiled, suddenly, a small, indulgent, and almost affectionate smile. "You demonstrate part of your soul when you fight, including the part with deeper potential. There is nothing you can't gain, my friend."

Artemis stared at him for a split second, unable to help himself. He laughed. "It all sounds like such nonsense." His eyes were twinkling, but he also showed a great deal of pain in those unguarded moments.

"Do not insult yourself so."

Artemis glanced at him with eyes still twinkling with amusement before facing forward, sensing disquiet in himself. "Why? So that I can let others insult me first?"

"Others insult you? Without dying? I don't fear anyone would be so foolish." The mercenary smiled at him. "If you could only see what I see when I look at you, you wouldn't be so skeptical. What will it take for me to convince you of such?"

Artemis shifted, suddenly very uncomfortable. "How about another eight bottles of wine and a heavy dose of barbiturates?"

Jarlaxle's smile widened warmly. "Ah, my friend. That will be unnecessary. You will discover this for yourself along the way; in truth, I will have to prove none of it." Seemingly satisfied with this, he picked up his glass of wine. "Shall we make a toast, though? To getting out of life all we dream and dare?"

Artemis almost winced at the blatant sentimentality. "How about just a toast to never using Drizzt Do'Urden's name again?" Still, the Calishite found himself stirring with a sneaking sense of disappointment and guilt at himself for smothering Jarlaxle's comment in ill will. If ever Jarlaxle did not mean harm, it was at the present. He looked around, stalling, then reluctantly muttered barely loud enough for Jarlaxle to hear him, "If we have all the potential you say, we should be able to make it without any of his help."

Jarlaxle stood and made a lavish bow, then sat again. "As you say, my friend. As you say. A toast to never using Drizzt's name again!" He held up the glass.

Artemis broke into a relieved grin. He followed suit, also holding up his glass, though much less ostentatiously.

Jarlaxle clinked his glass against Artemis'. "Cheers!" He drank a sip. "Very good, then. Good company, good wine, and I hope good food, if it is ever served." He slid a sideways glance at Artemis and grinned. "And to answer your question, I would not have come to the surface without you." The mercenary took another sip of his wine as though he had said nothing. "Oh, look! Our food at last!"

Artemis, blinked startled. If he had control of time, he would cause that moment to happen again. It all happened so fast that he didn't know if he'd heard correctly. But he was positive... He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped himself as the bartender set down two steaming bowls in front of them. _Oh, never mind._ "Finally." He used his reflexive grumble to cover up his confusion.

Jarlaxle grinned at this. "A thick beef stew, I see!" He put his spoon in and stirred, then stared into his bowl. "Wait. I don't see any beef."

Artemis stared. "A...gigantic bowl full of..._gravy_." The assassin thought, gripping his spoon in sudden indignation, _This is the house special?_

Jarlaxle threw down his cloth napkin. "By the torn off legs of a spider, they better have served me more than this!"

Artemis looked at him innocently. "If you find your portion of gravy lacking, you can have mine."

Jarlaxle turned to him, momentarily distracted from his gravy. "You have a sense of humor!" He winked, and then gestured at their bowls in quiet, sadly amused dismay, regarding them and slowly shaking his head. "Oh, my friend. How can we eat gravy and wine? This is an outrage."

Artemis felt a warmth through him he decided must be the wine, and he bit back his chuckle. He smiled and shook his head.

Jarlaxle pulled out a wand and tapped the counter, causing an entire smorgasbord of food to appear. "In fact, let me solve the problem for us right now. Then the tavern owner can pay me for my food."

The smell of half a dozen different roasted meats, freshly steamed vegetables, and fruit pastries hit Artemis' nose. He turned around to stare at the food strewn across the counter. "I don't think I will ever understand you. Do you truly just march around the countryside trying to give the appearance of a traveler?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "How can I experience the Surface if I don't try to do things the normal way? Then again, if the normal way deprives me of luxury for too long, why should I not intervene?"

Artemis resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. "Just what we need. A drow tourist."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Perhaps more than a tourist. Perhaps I will remain here."

Artemis paused, barely daring to hope and unable to dismiss the appeal of that idea. "Well, you're about as welcome as anyone else up here." He sipped his drink with false nonchalance. "I don't suppose Kimmuriel would let you, of course. He seems pretty determined to have you back."

Jarlaxle didn't seem fazed by this assessment. "Of course he does. He's a good leader, but he hates the job. He wants to spend all his time researching and experimenting, just like a wizard. That's what makes him the perfect temporary leader." He ran a finger over the rim of his wine glass. "But if I prefer to stay here, he won't have much of a choice, will he?"

Artemis tried unsuccessfully to hide a small, malicious smile of agreement at the thought of Kimmuriel trapped in Bregan D'aerthe's commanding position forever. "I don't suppose he will." He averted his eyes, supposing that he couldn't expect Jarlaxle to hate Kimmuriel as much as he did. "And you're not at all concerned with letting the project that consumed your life up until this point go..."

Jarlaxle grinned. "It is profitable, that's true. But I have been with 'the project' for hundreds of years. Who is to say that change is bad?"

Artemis answered, "No one, certainly." He sipped his wine. "Change is what brought us here, after all, and you seem to be enjoying yourself fine." He narrowly avoided saying '_we_ seem to be enjoying _ourselves_ fine'.

"And enjoyment is the point," Jarlaxle said, raising an index finger. "If we do not enjoy what we do, then why do it? We will not live forever, either of us. To waste a moment should be a crime!"

Artemis swirled the remaining wine in his glass. "Strange perspective." He considered that. "Then I'm sure Cadderly would be convicted and tried for a life sentence." He smirked with dislike at the memory of the priest of Deneir.

Jarlaxle laughed. "Indeed he would! I suppose neither of us are too fond of hypocrites, my friend. I might not glare daggers at them as you do, but neither do I like being judged by people who can neither imagine the world I lived in or survive in that world should they find themselves there."

Artemis sat in silence. Then, "And what world would that be, I wonder."

For the first time, he was considering that the world which he knew, and the world which Jarlaxle knew, were perhaps not the only worlds co-existing out there. Perhaps, if their worlds were so different, then there were worlds that Artemis Entreri could have no comprehension of, worlds he could not even begin to grasp. And in the vein of their discussion, what if one of those worlds were vastly preferable than the one he was so familiar with? He began to look around with more an eye for this, attempting to see something different about their location in light of this revelation. But all he saw was a dirty tavern.

Jarlaxle watched him with a small smile. "Then again, it is to be free of that world that I am here, exploring this one. Perhaps I can find something better?"

Artemis nodded, hardly trying to conceal that he was once again slipping into his own thoughts, and the disappointments therein.

"What is wrong?" Jarlaxle asked. "Do you not think so?"

Artemis shook his head.

The dark elf mercenary smiled. "You will see. We will both find something better than what we have left behind."

The confidence in those words had a settling effect on the assassin. Still, he found himself desiring to keep up appearances. "That shouldn't be hard. We left behind a city of people that wanted to kill us, and a band of drow that probably could."

"Now eat up," Jarlaxle said, turning away and starting to follow his own advice. His friend's decision to ignore that comment made Artemis wonder if Jarlaxle had seen it for the empty attempt to cover his discomfort it was. "I did not conjure up this food to let it go to waste, and I am sure that even if you cannot eat two horses and a lamb, you are quite hungry from our ride." His eyes twinkled.

After eating, Artemis did feel better. The worn and battered tavern didn't seem like a statement on how far he'd fallen anymore.

The bartender, finally getting through a sudden glut of farmers coming into his tavern, went back behind the bar and noticed their untouched bowls of gravy. "Didn't ye like the house special?" he asked, looking put out.

Jarlaxle summoned up a small smile. "I am afraid it was not exactly to our tastes."

Artemis scowled. "It was a bowl of gravy."

Jarlaxle looked at him sternly before spreading his hands and giving the bartender an apologetic expression. "What my friend means to say, good sir, is that to unversed Northerners such as ourselves, it _looks_ like a bowl of gravy."

The bartender sighed. "That's a right shame."

Jarlaxle commiserated with him. "My palate is so unschooled that I could not discern anything in that bowl but the taste of the beef."

"My wife worked so hard on that, too," the bartender said, shaking his head.

Artemis couldn't keep his mouth shut in light of that outrageous lie. "If your wife is even alive, she is most likely confined to her bed. No woman could make that!" The assassin was quite offended that the bartender could claim any woman was so unskilled in the kitchen that she called her best work that intolerable slop. _If she were blind and had only three fingers_, Artemis thought, glaring at the bartender.

"My panther friend comes from a somewhat more…formal age," Jarlaxle said. The mercenary gave his friend a look. "He was doubtless taught to believe that a woman was the distillation of all the perfection in the world, drafted to suit mankind's needs."

"If only," the bartender lamented. "That would make things so much easier."

Now Artemis glared at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle looked at him with widened eyes and shrugged innocently.

* * *

Footnotes: Ariel D helped script roleplay the scene in which Artemis and Jarlaxle enter the tavern and begin conversing with the bartender. She was, in fact, for most of the scene that appears here (I extended the scene for a few more paragraphs after the material we roleplayed) the nameless bartender and the venerable but exasperating Jarlaxle. Thank you very much, Ariel! I couldn't have gotten through it without you! I had a major writer's block standing in the way of that scene being written. Once she detonated the writer's block, I was able to complete this chapter on my own. 


	6. Desires and Goals

**Chapter 6**

Desires and Goals

--------------------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_"There is a difference between Sharlotta and many others, yourself included," Dwahvel went on. "We all play the game – that is how we survive, after all – and we all deceive and plot, twisting truths and lies alike to reach our desired ends. The confusion for some, Sharlotta included, lies in those ends. I understand you. I know your desires, your goals, and know that I impede those goals at my peril. But I trust as well that, as long as I do not impede those goals, I'll not find the wrong end of either of your fine blades."_

_"So thought Dondon," Entreri put in, referring to Dondon Tiggerwillies, Dwahvel's cousin and once Entreri's closest friend in the city._

(142)

* * *

He paced back and forth between the tavern counter and the door. He could feel Jarlaxle's gaze following him, watching him all the while. The drow mercenary was reclining in his chair across the room. The tavern at this hour was almost deserted, men having gone back to their wives and children.

_What is he doing, staring at me? _Artemis thought, feeling stung with irritation.

The words came unbidden then, rising up through his mind still warm like the lingering heat of fresh words. The feeling was the same as the smell of fresh breads coming from the tavern's kitchen, and in spite of himself, his stomach growled. He felt in his confusion as if he could almost touch these words.

"_We seek. Yes, you too, whether you will acknowledge it or not."_

"_You really believe that, don't you? That I have more 'potential'?"_

"_Absolutely, my friend. It was the first thing I noticed about you, and you've proven it over and over. Why do you think I sparred with you and none other, and why do you think I enjoyed it so? You demonstrate part of your soul when you fight, including the part with deeper potential. There is nothing you can't gain, my friend." _

Artemis wanted to take out his dagger and start stabbing something with it – anything. It didn't matter to him whether it was the wall or Jarlaxle. Those words they'd exchanged over lunch had not gone away and would not leave him alone, no matter how hard he tried.

He realized that the source of his frustration was Jarlaxle. He couldn't believe that Jarlaxle believed the oh-so-eloquent, grandiose words he'd spoken earlier in the day. He had no evidence, but surely Jarlaxle did not believe that – _no one_ could believe that about Entreri.

Potential? He was a hired killer. He was nothing more than a fugitive with a life of broken bodies behind him and blood money in his pockets. He had fallen from the heights of feared assassin back to the depths he had struggled to escape as a child on the streets. He was homeless, aimless, and, without Jarlaxle, would soon be penniless if he did not find some job to do.

How could Jarlaxle not see how low he'd sunk? How could he not see that Artemis was now back where he had started, counted as no better than a beggar, to be kicked around and pitied and given charity to?

He'd tried to resume his old profession and had failed. He, Artemis Entreri, once the greatest assassin in all of Calimport, was now a failure on the run for his life in order to start anew somewhere else, because of in spite of what he told Dwahvel, he was too certain that to return home – _No_, _not home_, he told himself, _Calimport_ – to return to Calimport meant death.

And he'd been running from death his entire life and didn't see why he ought to stop now, when he'd only recently won the footrace from disaster again.

He scowled, turned on his heel, and came to glare at the soft wooden notice board peppered with notices and chewed up by the amount of pins that had been stuck into its surface over the course of its long life.

He did not really think that he had a chance to start anew, and especially not as a bounty hunter, of all things, but the bounty postings were the most promising props with which to make his point. He would make Jarlaxle see that there was nowhere to go for him but down.

He tore down one of the notices, glancing at it, and brought it over to the table where Jarlaxle reclined.

Jarlaxle, of course, looked to be the antithesis of Artemis in every respect at this moment. Instead of being on his feet, he was in a corner with the back of his chair propped against the wall and his feet up on the round wooden table. Instead of being tense, he was holding a glass of red wine and looked as though he had been enjoying himself this whole time.

Artemis knew that he had been observing the assassin's distress – he had to have been, since he was the sole person who had caused it. _Viewing his handiwork_, Artemis thought, a sour taste in his mouth.

The Calishite slid the posting across the table to him.

Jarlaxle's eyebrows shot up. "Bounty hunters?" He surveyed the posting. The 'evil' sorceress something-or-other, from Artemis' cursory glance. The drow mercenary looked up at the Calishite and smiled.

Artemis stared at him. He had to know the battle had begun. The challenge, if that was appropriate. His word against Artemis'. In an odd way, they were fighting to define Artemis himself. A part of him did believe that Jarlaxle was serious, and what was more, felt gratified, more at peace than he had ever been. The remaining parts of him were struggling against this drastic redefinition of his soul, struggling to preserve his sense of identity – even if that identity had been abused, reviled, and belittled. It was still his identity, and it was all he had left after nearly losing his mind in Menzoberranzan and having his confidence, cockiness, and security scoured away.

Jarlaxle took a sip of his wine, swirling it and inhaling it delicately. "A call by the forces of justice for bounty hunters?"

Artemis dropped into an empty seat. "A call by someone. Whether it begets justice or not seems of little consequence."

"Does it? And what gain did you derive, then, from carrying Danica from the tunnels?"

"The gain of keeping a powerful priest from becoming an enemy."

"Or perhaps there was more. Perhaps Artemis Entreri had not the heart to let the woman die alone in the darkness."

Artemis shrugged, his eyes glinting fierce and cold at the very mention of the torture's he'd been through as a prisoner in Menzoberranzan.

"How many of Artemis Entreri's victims would be surprised?" Jarlaxle asked.

"How many of Artemis Entreri's victims deserved better than they found?"

They stared at each other, at an impasse. Artemis was not totally opposed, not at all. His conviction was wavering. But he found himself shoving, showing Jarlaxle the worst, because if Jarlaxle could still talk of potential even after these cold utterances coming from his lips, then perhaps… Perhaps he stood a chance. In an odd way, he felt as though they were arguing for his soul, and he was on the damning side.

Jarlaxle smiled softly, as if he could see Artemis' thoughts. "Artemis the Compassionate?"

For a moment, Artemis almost wanted to end the argument. He stood very still. "Perhaps." But then, a trapdoor in his mind fluttered open, and out came one of his most fully buried fears. "And perhaps if you keep saying foolish things, I will show you some compassion and kill you quickly. Then again, perhaps not." He stared at Jarlaxle, waiting for the response.

And then Jarlaxle did the ultimate act in dispelling who Artemis had once been. He laughed.

"Why should you kill me?" Jarlaxle asked, laying his arm on the table. His visible eye was twinkling. "You like me."

"Someday I might come to dislike you," Artemis said. "What then?"

Jarlaxle smiled. "If it comes to that, then it shall be my own fault. If I have counted you as a friend, only to lose you in spite of everything I could do to prevent it, then there is surely no one to blame but myself."

Artemis was surprised by this answer.

"Come," Jarlaxle said. "Let us not talk of gloomy things. Instead, let us talk of our latest adventure. Why take on a sorceress?"

Artemis smiled. "A friend suggested that I change my profession to wizard-killer in jest, but I have taken a liking to that idea. It is a challenge. A worthy challenge."

"Indeed it is!" Jarlaxle said. "And how are we going to defeat this sorceress?"

"Our usual way," Artemis said. "Luck, a fair amount of unscrupulous dealings, and spilled blood."

Jarlaxle grinned in return.

--------------

In the morning, Artemis and Jarlaxle went to meet the head Councilman of the village, a well respected and soft spoken Durparian. Jarlaxle had inquired about the Councilman late last evening from the tavern owner, who had answered his questions about both the town and the place from which the Councilman hailed.

Durpar, a peaceful trading nation to the east, was home to dark-skinned, dark-haired people that were known for their ability to create illusions, and their belief in a system of worship called the Adama.

The house was simple, but elegantly constructed of three different shades of stone, ranging from golden brown to beige to cream. When Artemis knocked on the door, a beautiful woman answered, dressed in flowing silk clothing. Her curly black hair was oiled and coifed.

Jarlaxle bowed to her. "Good morning, dear lady. We are here to see the councilman."

She smiled at him with softly painted lips. "Come this way. Councilman Jabarr is in the den at the present." She retreated, and led them inside the pleasantly cool home. The walls were plain, but looked freshly scrubbed, and little potted flowers were standing in every nook and cranny, adding splashes of color to the interior.

They walked through an archway, and there was the councilman, sitting at the low table on an even lower chair. The table was of a bright, polished wood, and the chairs were fluffy looking round things.

Artemis looked around the room. Jarlaxle stood still and smiled politely, content to watch Artemis sizing up the room. It was the largest room of the house, and it was the center of the house. The floor was paved in brown stones. He saw a child in a corner of the room drawing on the floor in brightly colored chalks and scowled. Jarlaxle shook his head slightly at this. _Ah, Artemis, always the same._

The ex-assassin turned to the seated councilman and brandished the posting. "We're here about the job."

The councilman smiled. "Yes, so my wife as told me. It was she that showed you in."

She went over to the Councilman, exchanged a kiss on the cheek, then sat down beside him, apparently content to watch and say nothing.

Artemis looked to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle said, "Thank you for your hospitality." He smiled a little too much at the pretty lady. "And may I say you have a lovely wife?" He belatedly remembered the little children lying about the room quietly playing. ". . . and children?" He didn't expect the children to be there, so openly displayed, nor did he understand why they were playing. He couldn't deny that the children were an adorable sight, but he was taken aback that he was even to be trusted in the same room with the darling creatures. He was a drow, after all. He put it down to Artemis' presence.

The councilman looked as though he were disconcerted, but trying not to show it. Bewilderment was still plain in his eyes. "You speak excellent common, sir Jarlaxle. I had expected you to speak through your companion, here." He gestured at Artemis. "It is not often that a Drow bothers to learn our language."

Jarlaxle laughed. "No need to call me 'sir.' And I make it a priority to learn the language of any people with which I would like to conduct business. It is a show of disrespect not to."

The councilman inclined his head with a smile. "Yes, indeed it is, in human customs. I am curious to learn more of your –" He seemed to realize partway through that he was wandering. His expression grew serious. "But we shall discuss that some other time." He motioned to the round, low-set chairs. "Please, have a seat, and let us discuss the matters at hand." He leaned over slightly and murmured something to his wife.

The councilman's wife nodded and got up from her seat, motioning to her children to follow her. They gathered around her like obedient ducklings.

Artemis winced as a child ran past him, head at the level of his knees.

"Why, thank you, sir!" Jarlaxle sat on the chair and smiled at the kids as they left. Then he rediscovered the thread of his thoughts and got back to business, quickly clearing his head. "Well, your post indicated that you needed someone hunted down. A sorceress by the name of Tandy?"

Artemis stood, and then, by degrees as if forcing himself to it, he sat down on a chair beside Jarlaxle. The low-set chairs consisted of a wide, heavily padded seat cushion in a shade of red mounted on a wooden shell that cupped it. It stood on small, chunky legs, and it had no back or arm rests.

The councilman nodded and looked even graver. "Yes. This sorceress has been sacking villages all around the Shaar, putting our people back hundreds of years by destroying the slow progress we have made in the peaceful immigration of this country. I know not what her motives are, but she poses a serious danger to me and my family, as well as the villages all around this area."

Jarlaxle frowned. "Sacking the villages? In what way?"

The councilman said, holding his hands out palm up, "My brothers have witnessed this process many times. I have been affording them lodging ever since their own villages were destroyed. First, the animals in the town break loose, running through the streets in a panic. Then, wild animals of all shapes and sizes descend on the village, attacking people and buildings until there is nothing left but ruins, and dead bodies litter the streets. The survivors flee to another village, but it has become unsafe no matter where they go."

Artemis said, "So...she charms animals."

The councilman said, "I believe so."

Artemis fell silent.

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "No small feat. How many villages has she destroyed this way, and over what period of time? Has she made any demands or stated a reason?"

"If we had a reason, we would not be in this mess!" The councilman took a deep breath and calmed himself. "It has been three years. At first, only one or two villages were destroyed - south and north of us. In the past three months, four villages have fallen, one after another, and it is not long it seems before she will reach us."

Artemis said, "So you had all this time to prepare and look for a person who was responsible for this, and you did nothing?"

"At first, it seemed as though the animals had simply lost their minds! We feared an epidemic among the animals that caused them to behave like this."

Artemis said with a sneer, "Nice theory, since it absolved you of any responsibility to look for a way to stop the destruction."

The councilman flinched and looked guilty. "You do not have to tell me that I have erred. Now even Kormul is threatened, surrounded by gnolls that bother them day and night, and they are unable to provide aid. Our largest city has been cut off from us."

Jarlaxle put his hand on Artemis's arm.

The hand on his arm seemed to remind him to keep his emotions in check, and so he sat back in the chair and closed his mouth. It didn't prevent him from having an angry gleam in his eyes.

Jarlaxle said, "Now is not the time for self-incrimination. Having witnessed nothing like this before, it is reasonable that you drew the wrong conclusion at first."

He lowered his hand from where it rested on Artemis' arm and held it palm up towards the councilman. "Now, however, is the time for swift action, as you are obviously aware or you would not have posted your bounty. Is it safe for me to assume that you wish for us to kill Tandy before she destroys any more villages? And if so, what information can you give us concerning her whereabouts?"

The councilman ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. Unfortunately, information is limited. She seems to be interested in wiping out all civilization west of Kormul - I do not know of a place further to the east than has been affected. That leads me to believe that somewhere in the east beyond Kormul, she is hiding and waiting for her forces to wipe out the rest of the villages."

Jarlaxle rubbed his forefinger across his chin. "I see. Do you know if she has any allies?"

The councilman shook his head. "She seems to work alone." He held out his hands. "What need has she for human allies when she can control any animal she wants?"

"I don't know," Artemis said. "Things like opening doors, spreading propaganda, manipulating the masses, sending her reports..."

Jarlaxle gave Artemis a light stroke on the arm again. Again, it silenced the assassin. "Perhaps she scries for information." He tilted his head. "But I think what my partner is saying is that we are concerned by your lack of further information." He paused and then used his most diplomatic tone. "Having us gather intelligence in addition to carrying out the kill will cost you extra coin. Is this acceptable?"

The councilman nodded and put a hand on his head as if he had a headache. "Yes. I was afraid it might come to this, and so I have enough support to pay you the money you need."

Artemis visibly bit back a comment about that assumption.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Very well. Our price would be 500 gold up-front, and 500 when we finish. I realize that is much to ask of a small town, but you are sending us into a completely unknown situation to face a completely unknown danger. If you would give my partner and me time to discuss the job alone, then you may also have time to consider our price."

The councilman nodded, and then silence fell. Artemis was looking at the councilman, an indescribable expression on his face, and the councilman was trying not to return Artemis' stare and failing, although he seemed unsure of why he was suddenly having a staring match with the newly retired assassin.

Jarlaxle looked between the two uneasy humans. "Ah . . . perhaps if you would find your wife and perhaps fix us a drink? Not to impose upon you, of course, but given the complexity of the job you are asking for, Entreri and I will need to borrow your den for our discussion."

"By all means." The councilman's voice was even softer than it was before. He nodded to them and then got up from his seat, walking to the doorway. He placed one hand on the side of the open archway. "Nisha?"

His wife appeared in the space of a few moments, apparently having been waiting for him to call her.

The councilman talked to her softly, gesturing at Artemis and Jarlaxle. The rise and fall of his voice seemed calm.

His wife nodded and whispered something back, her dark eyes catching the light by chance and suddenly looking very bright. Jarlaxle couldn't discern whether it was love, devotion, or tears.

The councilman summoned up a smile – it seemed, with great effort. His wife patted him on the shoulder, and then he left.

The councilman's wife bowed to the two sellswords. "I will be ready with your drinks shortly, but first, what do you prefer? We have water, milk, wine, and brandy."

Jarlaxle said, "Wine, please. Preferably dark red and dry, if I may be so bold."

The councilman's wife smiled and nodded. She turned to Artemis and waited politely, eyes attentive.

Artemis spoke without looking at her. "Nothing." His voice was a monotone.

The councilman's wife blinked and tilted her head, looking at Jarlaxle expectantly as if for advice on Artemis' strange behavior.

"My friend does not consume alcoholic beverages unnecessarily," Jarlaxle said. "But I assure you, if he says he wants nothing, then he needs nothing."

The councilman's wife smiled again and nodded. She seemed to come from a culture where smiling and nodding was required behavior. "As you wish, then. I will return shortly." She left on whispering feet in her bright silk slippers.

Jarlaxle turned to Artemis. "So, what do you think of this affair? Do we accept the job?"

Artemis said sourly, "If we don't, do we have anywhere to stay for the next hundred miles?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "True enough, and 1000 gold is nothing to sneeze at."

Artemis gave a thin-lipped, almost pained smile. "Unless one has an allergy."

_What kind of allergy is yours?_ "Something about this isn't sitting right with you," Jarlaxle said. "If we are to be partners, then you should voice your concerns."

Artemis sat there for a moment, then averted his eyes. He shrugged. "I don't know."

Jarlaxle removed his hat, rubbed a hand over his head, and then replaced it. _Alright, so this is more difficult than I thought_. "Well, you seemed angered by the councilman's blunders and errors of judgment."

Artemis' mouth turned into a thin line, right before he burst out, "If it has been going on for three years, why hasn't someone else already stopped her? I don't understand why I'm being handed a stale job!"

Jarlaxle blinked. He hadn't expected the outburst – least of all from such a calm and stoic individual. He'd gotten the impression that Artemis hated outbursts. "Well, these are simple folk, Artemis. Not the magic and business-savvy cutthroats of Calimshan. I suspect they didn't understand what was happening to them at first, and then panicked. Not smart, granted, but not surprising, either."

"I suppose we should do them a favor and take the job, then. If your assessment of them is apt, they're likely to be wiped out due to their stupidity." Artemis, scowling, still looked reluctant.

Jarlaxle wore a faint smirk. "No doubt. After all, even if they hadn't panicked, they wouldn't have been able to raise a warrior of their own strong enough to kill her." Then he smiled. "Besides, this is likely to be a complex job! It sounds like fun."

There was just a hint of a groan in Artemis' answer. "Fun."

Jarlaxle grinned wider. "Yes, exactly! Fun! Do not tell me you don't enjoy a challenge!"

Artemis sighed. "I don't enjoy having to play the hero. On any level. If they try to hold a celebration in our honor, _I_ am going to destroy their village."

Jarlaxle laughed. "You aren't a hero. You're a mercenary. If your inner paladin emerged, then you'd offer to kill her for free." He rose out of his seat, his arms thrown wide. "You'd kill her in the name of justice, for the sake of the innocents! You'd charge off on a white horse, with the prayers of the saints lending you speed, defeat the vile sorceress, and return home expecting no payment _other_ than a celebration!"

Artemis gave him a flat stare. "I am honestly horrified by your scenario."

Jarlaxle collapsed back into his chair with an honest chuckle. "Ah, my friend. Your racism against your own kind truly puzzles me." The dark elf mercenary grinned at him with fondness. "But what can I say to that?"

Artemis shrugged, seeming to put on a deliberately ignorant face. "You can identify it as the same racism against your kind that you're experiencing. What about the split between the followers of Elistraee and Vhaeraun, between Lloth and Selvetarm, and between everyone else? Why else would Drizzt be so eager to kill more drow?" He crossed his arms. "My attitude is nothing remarkable."

Jarlaxle snorted. "Drow hate everyone else by default. They do not even care about their own families. But you are not drow –you are human, and not all humans manifest such hatred."

Artemis, Jarlaxle noticed, changed the subject under this prodding. "Not all humans have Drow for their friends, either."

Jarlaxle let it go. "Well, you do have better than normal taste." He grinned.

Artemis grinned back. "And you have a larger than normal ego."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Having an accurate summation of your worth is not being conceited. If you gave yourself enough credit, you'd realize that." The mercenary patted his arm again on an impulse. "I swear, if I manage to convince you of nothing else, I'll convince you to see what a jewel you are."

Artemis went entirely blank-faced for one moment. Then he stared down at Jarlaxle's hand as though he had never seen such an object before.

Jarlaxle removed his hand with a small smile. "For someone with such confidence, you still sell yourself short. But we can discuss that later –I hear the lady returning with my wine. We are agreed on all counts as it concerns this job?"

As Jarlaxle had suspected, the result of his prompt was that Artemis quickly tried to pretend as though nothing had just transpired between them. "Yes."

"Excellent!"

Then, as the councilman's wife entered the room, he flashed her a brilliant smile – just a little too admiring to be polite – and said, "Thank you very much. You are an excellent hostess." He sipped the wine and made glowing compliments about the vintage.

Artemis sighed at this.

"Are you sure you do not want anything?" she said in her melodious voice, looking at him with concern.

"I'm sure."

They left after a parting discussion with the councilman, and after receiving their first payment from him.

Footnotes: Ariel D was kind enough to help me a second time. In addition to being my beta-reader, she's also an excellent roleplayer! She again played the role of Jarlaxle in a script form session that ultimately formed the councilman scene. Thanks Ariel! It seems that everyone likes the partnership, including me and Ariel herself, so there might just be more scenes we collaborate on in the future. As always, there will be a footnote whenever that occurs.


	7. Secret Scruples Under the Charade

**Chapter 7 **

Secret Scruples Under the Charade

--------------------------------------------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_Do not kill him,_ Jarlaxle instructed anyway, and he wasn't sure why he issued the command. _There is little he can tell his superiors that they do not already know. The spies have no idea of the truth behind Dallabad's overthrow, and will only assume that a wizard…_ He felt the energy continuing to build, with no conversation, argument or otherwise, coming back at him from the artifact.

Jarlaxle looked into the mirror at the fleeing, terrified man. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was right, that there was no real reason to kill this one. In fact, allowing him to return to his masters with news of such a complete failure might actually serve Bregan D'aerthe. Likely these were no minor spies sent on such an important mission as this, and the manner in which the band was purely overwhelmed would impress – perhaps enough so that the other pashas would come to Dallabad openly to seek truce and parlay.

Jarlaxle filtered all of that through his thoughts to the Crystal Shard, reiterating his command to halt, for the good of the band, and secretly, because he simply didn't want to kill a man if he did not have to.

He felt the energy building, building, now straining release.

"Enough!" he said aloud. "Do not!"

"What is it, my leader?" came Rai-guy's voice, the wizard and his sidekick psionicist rushing back into the room.

They entered to see Jarlaxle standing, obviously angry, staring at the mirror.

Then how that mirror brightened! There was a flash striking, and as painful to sensitive drow eyes, as the sun itself. A searing beam of pure energy shot out of the tower's tip, shooting down across the sands to catch the rider and his horse, enveloping them in a white-yellow shroud.

It was over in an instant, leaving the charred bones of Rolmanet and his horse lying on the empty desert sands.

Jarlaxle closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, suppressing his urge to scream out.

"Impressive display," Kimmuriel said.

(155-156)

* * *

They traveled towards Gandroban. Gandroban was the next large town that had become a center for the people that lost their villages to the sorceress' attacks. Councilman Jabar has written them a note in his elegant, almost unreadable script, asking the town leader, Councilman Taldus Mandoran for help. Councilman Jabar had suggested that there would be information about Tandy at Gandroban, and since they knew almost nothing, even that slight hint was enough to mobilize them.

They had picked up yet more supplies in Panchéa, the village they had been hired to protect from the sorceress' next attack, and their horses' backs were laden with bundled brown packs protected against the weather. Not knowing when they would encounter another village capable of sustaining them, most of the weight was water, treated with a mint-like herb to keep it from going stale. It was a local technique that Jarlaxle and Artemis had witnessed themselves before they had left the village.

As for transportation, Jarlaxle had exasperated both Artemis and Kimmuriel by insisting on bringing the horses on this adventure.

"This is not reasonable!" Kimmuriel objected, holding out his hands and looking flabbergasted at Jarlaxle's lapse in judgement.

"You expect him to be reasonable?" Artemis asked.

"It will take far too long to travel without my horses," Jarlaxle said. He crossed his arms and gave Kimmuriel an uncompromising look. "Unless you want to conscript yourself as our means of transportation for the weeks and even months this mission might take, I suggest you look into making an item to defend our steeds."

The sour expression on Kimmuriel's face told Artemis all he needed to know about which one of the drow had just won the argument.

In fact, Kimmuriel had returned in but an hour with two collars for the horses. They had set off ten minutes later.

Less than an hour after leaving, Artemis already had a headache. The horse collars were bright red, and golden bells hung off it, creating a perpetual, tinkling din.

He ran a hand over his temples. "Why must you insist on making life difficult for me? There was no reason not to leave the horses behind. They are here because you wished to be stubborn. Now, I appreciate anything that annoys Kimmuriel, but in this case, you've managed to find something equally irritating to me."

"I would walk through the endless layers of the Abyss for my horses!" Jarlaxle declared, raising an index finger and sitting up very straight in his saddle.

"Why?"

Jarlaxle petted his horse's neck. "Unlike those other horses, I paid good money for these. Therefore, they are not only irreplaceable companions –" He paused to say into his horse's ear, "You are special, yes, you are," and then straightened – "They are an investment. It only makes sense that I would be willing to protect my investment with a few well-placed enchantments." He grinned and pointed to the bells hanging from their horses' necks on twin leather collars. "Therefore my insurance."

"There are not 'endless layers'." Artemis glared at him. "There are six hundred sixty-six layers to the Abyss."

"Are there really?" Jarlaxle looked interested.

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I spent my childhood there."

Jarlaxle laughed at that, but Artemis didn't really take the time to enjoy the sound. A thought he had earlier prickled the back of his head again.

"I don't understand why we took this job," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle blinked. "I thought we had settled this in the councilman's house."

Artemis shrugged, and the scowl on his face deepened. "How are we supposed to succeed in time to save the village if we know nothing about when she is going to strike or why?"

Jarlaxle looked at him in surprise for a moment. Then he shrugged and let out a laugh. "Why, it's half a chance to succeed and half a chance to fail. That's the fun of this mission. We don't know what the outcome will be." His visible eye twinkled. "I am most anxious to find out the outcome. It will keep me entertained for the next tenday contemplating all the possibilities."

That was not the response that Artemis expected. He was silent for a moment, but that was because he had too many emotions all at once to express adequately with one stinging barb. The first thing that he thought of was what the villagers would have done if they had realized that Jarlaxle was gambling with their lives for fun. "When I take a job, it is to succeed, and to succeed only. Failure is not an option."

Jarlaxle looked taken aback at the sudden icy glare Artemis was aiming his way. "Then I suppose we had better start gathering information as quickly as possible."

"I suppose you better."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I? I cannot do this all by myself. Contrary to what you might believe at the moment, I need you just as much as you need me."

"Are you going to insist on my usefulness and beneficial nature to your cause?" Artemis asked. He was uncomfortably remembering Jarlaxle's words yesterday regarding his apparent status as a "jewel".

Jarlaxle grinned at him. "Do you want me to?"

The ex-assassin gave him a deadpan stare. "What do you think?"

"I think you're avoiding the question," Jarlaxle said. He leaned dangerously far back in his saddle, stretching. The day was already lazily hot, and it seemed to be making Jarlaxle a touch drowsy. "Well, you can avoid it all you want, but you'll have to face it eventually. When you do, I'm sure you'll come up with a satisfactory answer to the question."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at him. "I hate you."

Jarlaxle winked at him. "As you wish. As long as you give me a chance to change your mind, I won't concern myself."

That stumped him, and he was sure Jarlaxle knew it. He scowled for the next two and a half hours. The unwelcoming expression didn't, or couldn't, stop Jarlaxle, who resumed the practice of talking until Entreri felt his ears starting to bleed. After a while, the only relief was blocking the elf out.

Of course, blocking Jarlaxle out meant resuming another practice that he wasn't fond of –thinking in a deeply introspective way. Lack of heroism or not, Artemis didn't know if he had the stomach for this particular mission. And perhaps that was why he had been so offended by Jarlaxle's suggestion to leave the outcome up in the air and see where the dung rained down. Not only was that not Artemis' way, but it struck a nerve, since he couldn't help but interpret Jarlaxle's comments as a statement on how well the assassin would fare at a job that he was unaccustomed to.

On a completely different subject, now that Artemis was becoming accustomed to Jarlaxle's company – as much as he thought he ever would – he was forgetting every other moment that Jarlaxle hailed from an indescribable and twisted culture. He would have thought he could do better than that, for his memory was always sharp, but he found that the more familiarity he gained with his partner, the more some part of him attempted to bridge the cultural gaps between them. As far as Artemis was concerned, it wasn't working, since declaring his hatred as a way of rebuttal hadn't worked in the least. Then again, he didn't wonder for a moment how Jarlaxle, as a drow, would interpret that statement.

Before he got too touchy-feely about the whole business, he brushed it away and decided that this small break from Jarlaxle's chatter had been enough. Certainly enough rope to hang himself with, in any case, and it was a narrowly avoided fate as soon as he started thinking about what Jarlaxle could possibly be thinking. He didn't doubt that drow had driven themselves insane trying to decipher Jarlaxle's mind.

"One thing I know would aid us in this endeavor is my magical whistle," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis didn't know where that had come from, but that was only to be expected. "And? So?"

"Well, it would be a great help to me if I could find it," Jarlaxle said, looking irritated at needing to explain such a thing.

"What's stopping you?"

"Nothing has stopped me from looking," Jarlaxle said. "The problem is that something is stopping me from finding it."

"What kind of something?"

Jarlaxle frowned. "Normally, I could detect any of my items no matter where it is, but my methods are not working. There is too much interference."

"If your methods find it through the magic that the whistle possesses, isn't it a safe conclusion that you have so much interference because it is still on your person somewhere?" Artemis asked. "It doesn't seem inconceivable to me that it's fallen into that bottomless hat of yours somehow."

"I have looked through all my possessions," Jarlaxle complained again. "I cannot find my whistle."

Artemis hid his smile behind an innocent expression. "Well, then, perhaps someone took it."

"Who would do that?" Too absorbed in his dissatisfaction, Jarlaxle didn't notice the expression on Artemis' face. He gestured in front of him with his hands. "Who would even possess the skill to do such a thing? I am Jarlaxle, not some unwary human. When could someone have done such a thing? When we were running from the destruction of the Shard? That would make the culprit one of Cadderly's group. Or perhaps Kimmuriel or his allies. But that makes no sense! What would Kimmuriel want with my whistle, and what use would Cadderly have for it? And if he is truly as righteous as he claims to be, he would never stoop to stealing from me in order to obtain it, he would simply demand it from me as payment for his cooperation." Jarlaxle stopped, shaking his head, and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief.

Artemis was more and more unsuccessful at hiding his grin. He now looked openly amused. "Perhaps someone with something to gain, then," he suggested. "How about a potential ally, for instance? One that needed it, and then simply refused to return the object until his partner realized it was gone and the purpose behind its disappearance?" That was really too much of a hint, but he couldn't help himself.

Jarlaxle looked dumbfounded.

Artemis snorted, and then tossed him the whistle.

Jarlaxle caught it in one hand through sheer reflex in his shock, and stared at it. "How…?"

"I counted on the powerful magical aura of Charon's Claw to mask the more subtle emanations of your whistle, and I was correct," Artemis said. He shrugged. "It was only a matter of time before you suspected me, but I got impatient when I was not among the first suspects. I did, after all, manage to pull a rather simple sleight of hand trick on you in order to obtain the Shard. I thought you would be on your guard against my pick-pocketing skills from then on." His gray eyes twinkled, even as he put on a displeased scowl. "Apparently, I was mistaken."

Jarlaxle looked just as dumbfounded that Artemis was more relaxed than he had ever seen him before as he was dumbfounded at the discovery of Artemis' theft. _Did he just play a prank on me?_ "Why did you take it?"

"To talk with Kiké, of course," Artemis said. "I knew that he wouldn't trust you if you spoke his language, but I knew that our common enough heritage would allow him to trust me. Drow aren't native to the Shaar. Therefore, however friendly he might have acted towards you, he was in fact on his guard against you and only comforted by the fact that a fellow southerner was there to act as an intermediary."

"You could have asked for it," Jarlaxle said doubtfully, but they both knew that was an immaterial objection. No harm had come of the theft, and they hadn't a habit of telling each other things up front, so it wasn't an out of the ordinary occurrence.

"Would you have given it to me?" Artemis raised an eyebrow.

"No," Jarlaxle said, and grinned in spite of himself, because his response was entirely true and was entirely the reason Artemis hadn't asked.

"Then you see my point."

"I don't like to share my magical toys," Jarlaxle said. He petted the whistle and looked defensive. "I can't help that. I've had them to myself for too many decades to share them with someone else willingly."

"Then, if you want me to be an equal partner, you'll give me my own copies," Artemis said, in a bartering tone that showed he thought Jarlaxle would never do it. "You can have Kimmuriel make them for me. Then I won't have to steal them whenever I want to get something done."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Jarlaxle said, with only a hint of uncertainty in his reply, evident by the twist of foreboding in his smile.

Artemis sighed and rolled his eyes. "I won't use them to get rid of you. If I wanted to be rid of you, I would have done it already. I don't need magic to kill."

"You are right, of course," Jarlaxle said, his smile brightening. It dimmed again only a moment later. "Still…" Jarlaxle said. "I don't think it is yet in my best interests to give you items like these."

Artemis frowned. "Why?"

Jarlaxle made an innocent face. "Because I hold the ability and the experience to wield these items more effectively, of course."

Artemis opened his mouth, instantly thinking of a rebuttal for that, but Jarlaxle saw this and deftly changed the flow of the conversation again.

"Besides, it is you who seemed to lack interest in magical defenses," Jarlaxle said. "I chose to handle it for the good of our mutual partnership." He beamed. "With me on your side, you never have to go through the messy process of training required to use magical items like these."

"That was blatant propaganda."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Of course it was." He winked. "Could you expect anything less from a conversation with me?"

"Unfortunately not."

However, Artemis did get the point, even if Jarlaxle didn't say it. Jarlaxle was afraid that giving him that much leeway would result in their partnership dissolving. It caused a twinge of some unpleasant emotion he didn't understand to think that Jarlaxle assumed he only wanted the drow around for his magic.

Then, after a moment, he berated himself. _What do you expect? For him to assume you never mean what you say? And what good would that do? You express irritation so often that you sound as if you hate him._ Then he recalled his irritated words earlier that day. _You did say you hated him. _

_I didn't know what to say!_ He practically said it aloud in his anger with himself. _He was pushing me! He knows not to push me! If anyone's fault has to be assigned, it should be his, for testing me! _

"I hope we encounter gnolls," Artemis growled. "Entire filthy packs of gnolls."

Jarlaxle looked at him curiously.

Artemis glared at him and refused to elaborate.

-----------------

They didn't meet any gnolls, but they did encounter some people when they were traveling through an area filled with fields of tall grass all around them. It was in the afternoon, after they had already stopped for lunch and taken a rest before moving on. A small group of men sneaked up on them so successfully that Jarlaxle and Artemis caught movement out of the corner of their eyes only a moment before being ambushed. The horses, seeing that they were in danger, reared up and kicked at the bandits threateningly.

Apparently not expecting that reaction, they fell back long enough for Jarlaxle and Artemis to dismount. Artemis stayed in front of the horses, defending them from attack, while Jarlaxle, self-appointed diplomat, walked towards their would-be attackers to have a chat.

Though Jarlaxle had on his most disarming smile, the ruffians watched him with unveiled hostility. They were Shaaryan, with black hair roughly hacked off and sticking out in all directions. They wore capes that had a hyena figure emblazoned on the right shoulder, and no armor to speak of. They wore sandals on their feet made of leather.

The man standing in the front growled and brandished his scimitar. "Take off all your clothes and give us your gold," he said in harsh Common.

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "I really –" 

"Shut up, drow!" one of the ruffians said.

A slight scowl crossed Jarlaxle's face. "How rude," he muttered.

"Do you fear not for your lives to the degree that you are willing to speak that way to a drow, one of the most dangerous races to walk the Realms?" Artemis asked, looking at them incredulously. "Never mind what I will do to you. I find it hard to believe that any creature in human form could be that stupid."

The ruffians rushed him. Predictably.

He disarmed the leader by blocking his sword with the bracer on his left arm and cutting off the man's wrist. He flung the leader into his fellows even before the ruffian could finish letting out a yell, and successfully tangled them up in each other.

Artemis watched them fall like cards on a gambling table, toppled in quick succession by daggers in the back. It revealed Jarlaxle standing behind them, still scowling. "If we don't find some significant reason for their deaths upon their person, they will have ruined my day."

Artemis cast him a look. "Are you so loathe to kill people?"

"It wasn't the insult that bothered me," Jarlaxle said. "It was their insistence on confrontation." He looked down at their fallen bodies and shook his head. "What a waste of time."

"It saved us the trouble of sparing them, only to have to cut through them on our return journey," Artemis argued, taken aback by Jarlaxle's attitude.

Jarlaxle sighed. "People do not exist solely to be killed." He glared at the ruffians' bodies. "At least ideally they should serve a purpose."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at his friend, not understanding where this sudden lecture was coming from. "People do not serve some invaluable service. They are vermin, and serve only to get in the way. Exceptions are few."

Jarlaxle chose not to respond right away, instead kneeling down and searching the bodies of the ruffians for anything of value. He found one silk handkerchief in a magenta color, several small gold trinkets, and one small ruby half the size of a fingernail. He looked down at these objects in his hand mournfully. "They'll do." Then he stepped around to the leader. Tucked into a boot was a small silver rod etched with mysterious writing. Jarlaxle's face instantly lit up. "Much better."

Artemis groaned. "Are you done? You surely do not need any of those things, anyway."

Jarlaxle sniffed. "I can't believe no one has taught you want versus need yet."

-----------------------

After a few uneventful days, they reached Gandroban.


	8. A Hero

**Chapter 8**

A Hero

-----------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

He took up his glass and the bottle and walked away. Entreri, with his own glass, followed him across the room to the one free table in the small place.

Of course, the two tables near that one soon became empty as well, when the patrons took up their glasses and other items and scurried away from the dark elf.

"It will always be like this," Entreri said to his companion a short while later.

"It has not been so for Drizzt Do'Urden of late, so my spies indicated," the drow answered. "His reputation, in those lands where he was known, outshone the color of his skin in the eyes of even the small-minded men. So, soon, will my own."

"A reputation for heroic deeds?" Entreri asked with a doubting laugh. "Are you to become a hero for the land, then?"

"That, or a reputation for leaving burned-out villages behind me," Jarlaxle replied. "Either way, I care little."

That brought a smile to Entreri's face, and he dared to hope then that he and his companion would get along famously.

(279-280)

* * *

"The village is no village at all," Jarlaxle said, remarking upon the growing silhouette of buildings. "It is a town, if not a small city."

Entreri nodded. He stared at it with narrowed eyes, thinking that Gandroban was a bigger target than Panchéa by anyone's estimation.

As was seemingly the way with the hardened warrior, the assessment was no sooner made than confirmed.

The bells around their horses' necks began to jangle ominously. The rising, cacophonous din sounded like possessed cow bells.

Jarlaxle and Entreri looked at each other.

"Magic," Artemis said.

"Tandy," Jarlaxle said.

Gandroban was under attack.

They watched, stunned, as a herd of wild horses tore across the plain and crashed into a mob of people who tried to hold back the rampaging beasts. However, their efforts to fortify their city's broken walls were futile.

Jarlaxle dismounted and shot a ray from one of his wands straight at the horses. The bells around their necks stopped making that awful noise, and the steeds looked less spooked. Without waiting for Entreri, he began to run towards the city. "Our horses will be safe where we left them. Come, friend! I'd say we finally have a chance to enjoy ourselves! Things have been too easy until now, wouldn't you agree?"

Artemis was soon beside him. "Well, I'd say now you have a chance to earn the reputation of a hero in your own right, if that's what you wanted."

"I never said I wanted to be a hero. I only said that the reputation of one would be a great way to ease myself into situations where I don't belong. Being a hero is too much work to maintain for very long." Jarlaxle grinned at him.

They climbed the crumbling eight-foot wall around the city's borders and simultaneously jumped over, Jarlaxle breaking his fall with his levitation and Artemis with a roll

Everywhere around them, wild animals churned up mud in the streets, and children hysterically cried in the mud brick buildings.

Artemis took an inadvertent step back in surprise. The horses hadn't been the first wave of attackers. They had come mid-battle against an entire plain of animals. It sent a shiver down his spine to see zebras and lionesses, gazelles and hyenas working side-by-side in an obviously charmed, unnatural way.

He snapped out of it before his drow companion did. Jarlaxle was staring at the scene before them, a dagger hanging limply in one hand. The drow's expression was overawed – he had probably never seen most of these animals before in his travels on the surface.

Before Jarlaxle could even get his bearings, Artemis slaughtered two lionesses from behind and gestured at the huddle of frightened women against a cart to move. The women tried to obey him, but were trembling so violently that they stumbled, tripping over the heavy robes draped across their bodies.

The assassin glanced over his shoulder and saw more than enough reason to hurry them up. "Stay inside!" Artemis snarled at the women. He grabbed the older woman flagging behind the group by the arm. There were screams as he none-too-gently escorted them to the nearest adobe building. Tears were running down some of their faces as he slammed the door shut.

He turned to face Jarlaxle, glaring.

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "You'll hear no comments from me."

At that point, they dove into the conflict and almost lost sight of each other. Jarlaxle stopped a wild stallion by leaping onto its back and stabbing a dagger into its neck, saving a group of cowering tradesmen hid under a battered wooden stall. They ran at the sight of him standing over the fallen horse, possibly more frightened than they had been before a drow showed up.

Jarlaxle looked over in time to see Artemis kick a hyena in the face. He was fighting off a group of six, his back against a building so that he couldn't be attacked from behind. The victims Artemis saved, Jarlaxle supposed, were the women in maroon and purple robes fleeing into the nearest building.

Now the people they'd found had all been cleared out of their way, and they regrouped. More beasts were stalking the streets, and Jarlaxle knew they didn't have a long time to talk before they'd be fighting again.

"What do you suggest?" Jarlaxle asked. "I don't think I have ever been forced to fight hordes of possessed animals." He chuckled. "Although the creatures of the Underdark are bad-tempered, most of them are loners. They are incapable of the cooperation of pack animals like lions or hyenas."

Entreri ignored the commentary since they were quickly being surrounded again. A group of wildcats and lions was honing in on them.

"We need to scare them," Entreri yelled over the fray. "That will break the sorceress' spell. Not even her magic can keep these animals here against their will if their lives are threatened."

"Scare them?" Jarlaxle said, dodging the lunge of a small wildcat. It narrowly missed digging its claws into his bare arm. He reached under his cape, to the sides of his belt. "I think I have something that can do that."

"Just make sure it won't kill us, either," Artemis muttered, fighting back to back with him. He wished he had access to fire.

Jarlaxle lifted his hat, tipping it in acknowledgement, before levitating straight up to the level of the Gandroban rooftops. He hovered there and drew out two large, brightly colored balls, one in each hand. He threw them.

They exploded on contact, bursting into enormous puffs of colored smoke and small sparkles that scattered in every direction.

Entreri ducked into a doorway, covered his mouth, and shut his eyes.

The lions and wildcats roared and shot out of the smoke, ears flattened to their skulls and eyes wide.

Jarlaxle dropped back to the ground grinning broadly. "It worked! What do you know? I always thought they were good for something."

Artemis came out, brushing glittering specks from his hair. "How many more of those do you have?"

"Twelve, I think," Jarlaxle said. He looked thoughtful. "I can get more if I need to."  
Artemis grunted. "Let's hope that's enough for now."

"Don't you like them?" Jarlaxle teased, gesturing to the puffs of orange, red, and purple dispersing through the street. "You are so much more attractive with sparkles in your hair. You should consider it as a permanent statement."

Artemis didn't deign to acknowledge that suggestion, instead turning and jerking his head. "Look who's coming back."

The wild cats were slinking back, eyes darting around fearfully.

Artemis stood out in the open where they could all see him and drew Charon's Claw. The skull pommel flared to life, and he cut through the air, trailing hanging black ash. Artemis almost dropped the sword when it gushed out a spurt of flame. He could feel the heat on his hands and face.

The animals instantly turned tail and ran.

_What was that?_ he asked the telepathic sword, staring down at the blade.

_I was only attempting to be helpful_, Charon's Claw replied in his mind

"Nice touch," Jarlaxle said. "I didn't know you could do that."

Artemis opened his mouth, but failed to reply.

They turned simultaneously as they heard human screams from the east.

"We have more to do," Jarlaxle said.

"If there's going to be a 'we', keep down the theatrics," Artemis muttered. He flicked one of the sparkles from Jarlaxle's smoke tricks out of his hair and rubbed his fingers as though they'd been soiled.

"But I like theatrics," Jarlaxle bantered.

They sprinted towards the noise.

Jarlaxle stopped short at the beasts surrounding a group of people in robes similar to citizens of Calimshan. They filled the street. "Duck! Get down!" The drow drew his fire wand and spat enormous flames at the wild beasts. Antelope, hyenas, zebras and leopards flew through the crooked streets between dwellings.

"Jijubé! Mananga da tugé, mana locé ma ha!" someone in the crowd of people yelled, cowering. They clustered together on the ground in a jumble of brown, tan, and gray cloth.

Artemis looked to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle turned to the people and answered, "Kakané! Mo!"

It took Artemis a moment to translate what Jarlaxle was saying. _Helpers? _He narrowly avoided giving Jarlaxle stunned glare. Every fiber of his being resented the exposure of his actions as 'helping' anyone but himself.

"Nijiana?" a man said disbelievingly.

"Ko! Momoemé da zjiin," Jarlaxle called. He gestured for them to protect themselves.

Artemis and Jarlaxle left. Jarlaxle was looking in all directions, hand on another one of his wands, searching frantically for something.

"They say there are people in trouble," Jarlaxle said. "They've been holed up for over an hour, fighting the masses turned against them." His ear pricked up, and he broke into a run. "We have to find them. Their leader is among them, fighting alongside the men."

"If they're sill alive," Artemis said. He tossed Jarlaxle a frown as they ran. "For your information, I borrowed your whistle to speak Shaaryan, not to listen to it. I understand fine."

"My pardon." Jarlaxle smiled at him and tipped his hat to the assassin.

They found the men in the southern section of the city. The ground was littered with bodies both animal and human. Blood ran in rivulets on the hard, dry ground. A knot of warriors, rips in their leather armor, fought back to back, swords and axes long since soaked red. They were all injured.

"Kanané!" Jarlaxle yelled. "Jengo no mana aknoné badin joben!" He drew his wand and cast a howling wind of ice and snow across the backs of the animals. The wild horses dropped, shivering and dying, and packs of wild dogs let out despairing howls.

"Fight!" a man with long, braided hair and scars on his arms and face yelled. He waved his claymore. He spoke in Common. "We have help! You must fight!"

Jarlaxle put away his wands, for he didn't dare strike so close to the people he was trying to save. He drew his extending daggers, and with Artemis, waded into the crowd of wild beasts, slaying as many as he could. On the other side, the trapped warriors fought to make headway towards their rescuers.

One of the warriors roared something and dove to pick up something on the ground they'd been forced to give up to the animals. It was a torch. He struck a spark with something small in his hand and set it ablaze. The animals, already intimidated by the turn of the battle, were driven off by the fire.

Jarlaxle stopped, panting, and took off his hat, rubbing sweat from his head with a handkerchief. "I don't think Tandy will be happy," he murmured.

The warriors of Gandroban milled around for a moment, as if in shock. Then they slowly began cleaning their weapons and tending to their wounded.

Artemis and Jarlaxle looked up as the man who seemed to be the leader walked towards them.

The massive, scarred man got down on one knee, braids brushing the ground. "You have my thanks, strangers. In the name of the Mandoran clan, you are always safe in Gandroban."

Artemis tensed with a twitch. "I was helping him." He pointed his sword at Jarlaxle. "He is the one that decided to save you."

Jarlaxle gave him a curious, amused look bordering on exasperation and said, "My friend exaggerates. We are partners. I make decisions for the both of us no more than he does." He bowed low and swept off his hat. "It is both of us you should thank for our timely intervention, Chief Mandoran." He straightened. "Now, do I have it right that you possess valuable information on the whereabouts of Tandy Jedra?"

The scarred man nodded grimly. "My hawks have scouted out a tower. Many were unable to come back to me, and three were crazed. They all had to be killed. It was…a great sacrifice to make. They are my sacred spirit guides." A muscle worked in his jaw. "I would have the opportunity to avenge them myself, but the time is come to protect the city. My people."

"I understand," Jarlaxle said, bowing again. "In the best interests of both of our parties, let us go to the tower and avenge the wrongs Tandy has done to all of you."

Artemis withheld the urge to roll his eyes. He allowed himself a long suffering thought and phrased things his own way."We've been sent to kill her." He took out the note Mayor Jabar had written them and handed it over.

The man read it, slowly, and then folded the letter up, slipping it under his armor next to his heart. "Ah." The scarred man looked at the both of them. For a moment, he did not speak. Then he took off one of his many necklaces and dropped it over Artemis' head. "You have my people's blessing. Take this talisman, and may it protect you from Tandy's malfeasance."

_Malfeasance?_ Jarlaxle mouthed at Artemis, when the chieftain-mayor turned away to look at the wounded being carried away.

Artemis shrugged.

"Is there someplace we could stay for the night inside the city?" Jarlaxle asked. "We will take any arrangement, however humble. We are weary from our ride and would feel safest closer to the center of Tandy's targets."

Artemis stared at him.

"We need to be here to protect these people, Artemis," Jarlaxle said, giving him an innocent look. He gestured in drow sign language, _This is where the information is. We stick to the trail. _

Artemis sighed. "I suppose." He studied the necklace he'd been given. It was a small, black stone carved in the likeness of a hawk. "What about our steeds?"

Jarlaxle beamed and snapped his fingers. "That reminds me, old friend! I had an item made that can call our horses to us!" He took a slender flute out of his hat and blew a sweet sounding note. Then he put it away and crossed his arms smugly. "They are coming to us as we speak."

"You put a lot of effort into horses," Artemis muttered. He let the term 'old' friend pass only because Jarlaxle was purposefully playing the heroic idiot in front of Gandroban's chieftain.

The horses did soon arrive, looking none the worse for wear, and Jarlaxle charmed some woman off the street into taking care of them, rewarding her handsomely with gold coins.

Jarlaxle and Artemis helped clean up the wreckage of Tandy's attack, picking up pieces of ruined trade stalls and helping herd confused animals back to pens being hastily repaired with wood and rope, or mud brick.

Artemis knew they wouldn't normally bother with this, especially not since Jarlaxle was often bored by menial labor. No, it made sense to him that Jarlaxle was playing the part in order to get a hero's reputation. He didn't like being mixed up in such charades, of course, but he conceded to himself that it served a purpose. If he didn't help the townspeople clean up, he wouldn't have a place to sleep that night.

In addition, Jarlaxle was using his involvement in the city's recovery to pump Chief Mandoran for information. Artemis listened with half an ear as Jarlaxle collected information regarding the exact location of Tandy's tower, when Mandoran had begun to notice the animals acting strangely, and when he had recognized Tandy as the enemy in all of this. Artemis would have listened closely to be sure if this had been his job alone, but he trusted Jarlaxle to do the necessary information gathering.

Jarlaxle had a way with people – even human people – and he could get answers Artemis could not. If this had been at the beginning of their partnership, he doubted he would be so trusting with Jarlaxle. After all, it was typical of the mercenary to relay only a limited amount of the information he received, and to save the rest for his own ends. By now, however, Artemis had been through enough dealings with the drow to accept that any information Jarlaxle might hide was not necessary for Entreri's survival.

Jarlaxle was a strange man by any culture's standards, but Artemis was brought to the same conclusion as when he was resting in the merchant camp. He was not expendable, not in Jarlaxle's book, and that meant he had relative safety. As long as he kept Jarlaxle around, Artemis would find work. Not safe work, but then, Artemis had tried safe work after he'd escaped from Menzoberranzan, and he'd nearly killed himself to end the boredom.

Life with Jarlaxle promised to be exciting.

-----------------------

That evening, they sat and discussed their plans.

Choosing not to disclose Artemis' magical tent, Jarlaxle had politely accepted an ordinary tent from the people of Gandroban. They set it up on the same bare earth that had earlier been the chieftain's battlefield. Jarlaxle did not want a repeat of what had happened in that battle. It was the most dangerous area in Gandroban, and so he set camp in it. Around them, oil lamps hanging on stout metal poles cast flickering yellow lights into the darkness. Every doorway in Gandroban had at least one lamp in front of it.

Though the tent was not as large as Artemis' tent usually extended to, Jarlaxle did not complain as they headed into the makeshift shelter and buttoned down the front flap for the night.

"The tower of Tandy Jedra is a day and a half's journey southeast of Kormul," Jarlaxle said. He unrolled his magical cloth map and showed Artemis the area. "It is said that her tower appeared outside Kormul five years ago, during the festival of Quelélit – a summer festival, I believe."

"I know," Artemis said. He studied the area Jarlaxle was pointing to hard. "That area is marked by vegetation."

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "Mostly stunted trees and tough bushes with leaves like aloe vera. Similar to the ones we passed, I believe." He lifted his hat and rubbed the back of his bald head. "If it is scrying we have to worry about, that should cover us."

"Unless it's done by some other sense than sight," Artemis contradicted. "In which case, we either need magical tools, or a lot of luck even to get inside that tower."

"I'm working on it." Jarlaxle beamed at him innocently.

Artemis scowled. "Which one?"

"Both."

"You're going to get us killed," Artemis said.

"Maybe." Jarlaxle was still smiling. He shrugged. "But then, maybe not." He gave Artemis a pronounced wink. "Good night." He turned over and lay down, grinning so broadly that not even his position could hide it.

Artemis narrowed his eyes at this antic. "I'll sleep fine. I've had worse worries in my dreams." He too rolled over and composed himself for sleep.

* * *

Footnotes: Thank you to Ariel D and Linndechir for beta reading and getting me through this difficult chapter.

Also: This is only the first story in a series of stories, and when I finish this story, its name will change in accordance with my decision.


	9. The Confrontation

**Chapter 9**

The Confrontation

-----------------------------------------

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

Entreri's expression soured. He had expected better of his drow companion. He had seen this fighting style many times, particularly among the pirates who frequented the seas off Calimport. It was called "swashbuckling," a deceptive, and deceptively easy, fighting technique that was more show than substance. The swashbuckler relied on the hesitance and fear of his opponents to afford him opportunities for better strikes. While often effective against weaker opponents, Entreri found the style ridiculous against any of true talent. He had killed several swashbucklers in his day – two in one fight when they had inadvertently tied each other up with their whirling blades – and had never found them to be particularly challenging.

The group of wererats coming in at Jarlaxle at that moment apparently didn't have much respect for the technique either. The quickly rushed around the drow, forming a box, and came in at him alternately, forcing him to turn, turn, and turn some more.

Jarlaxle was more than up to the task, keeping his spinning swords in perfect harmony as he countered every testing thrust or charge.

"They will tire him," Entreri whispered under his breath as he worked away from his newest opponents. He was trying to pick a path that would bring him to his drow friend that he might get Jarlaxle out of his predicament. He glanced back at the drow then, hoping he might get there in time, but honestly wondering if the disappointing Jarlaxle was still worth the trouble.

He gasped, first in confusion, and then in admiration.

Jarlaxle did a sudden back flip, twisting as he somersaulted so that he landed facing the opponent who had been at his back. The wererat stumbled away, hit twice by shortened stabs – shortened because Jarlaxle had other targets in mind.

The drow rolled around, falling into a crouch, and exploded out of it with a devastating double thrust at the wererat opposite. The creature leaped back, throwing its hips behind it and slapping its blade down in a desperate parry.

Before he could even think about it, Entreri cried out, thinking his friend doomed, for one sword-wielding wererat charged from Jarlaxle's direct left, another from behind and to the right, leaving the drow no room to skitter away.

(284-285)

* * *

Artemis woke up to find himself alone in the tent. He sat up and ran a hand through his tangled hair. He'd slept more deeply than he could remember in a long time, an indication that he was getting older…or that he had felt truly safe. 

Before he could decide, Jarlaxle entered the tent, grinning broadly. "My spies have far surpassed even my expectations," he said, throwing open his arms. "I'll have to return to Bregan D'aerthe to grant promotions when this business is over with."

Artemis regarded him warily. "What could be such good news?"

Jarlaxle pulled out the cloth map he'd stowed since beginning the job and waved it in front of the assassin with unadulterated glee. "Guess which two mercenaries now have access to a complete blueprint of the sorceress' tower?"

Entreri rubbed his chin and made a show of mulling the question over. "Hmm…I don't know. But how would the local mercenaries get a hold of such private information in such short time? They surely didn't have this information yesterday, or they would have given it to us."

He didn't know what had gotten into him, speaking in third person about himself and Jarlaxle as if he didn't know what Jarlaxle was talking about. He had the same oddly enjoyable, freeing feeling he often had with Dwahvel. As though he could say whatever he wanted without repercussions.

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "If those mercenaries had other sources, that might explain their sudden advantage."

Artemis had to keep from breaking out into a grin. He knew they were being ridiculous, and for some reason, that Jarlaxle was playing along with his game pleased him immensely. "Do they?"

"They do," Jarlaxle affirmed cheerfully.

Artemis examined the map, running his eyes over the complicated structure of lines and boxes. It was hitting him for the first time that they might have a chance. He could see a way to feasibly win this battle. They had the information they needed to break into the tower.

Artemis looked up at Jarlaxle, humor gone. "Are you sure about this?"

Jarlaxle's eyes were grave, even through his smile. "I am."

Artemis stood up and brushed himself off. "Then let's get moving." He looked around the tent at the clothing and equipment strewn about and began the task of cleaning it all up and packing it again.

They bade Chief Mandoran and the city of Gandroban farewell that morning, and set off for the place that Mandoran had described – a rocky, desolate land east of Kormul.

-----------------

"There is a secret method to teleport inside Tandy's tower," Jarlaxle said. He crept up to the circle of rocks with a sly smile on his face.

The circle of stones looked natural – they were of different shapes and sizes, ranging from stones that could fit in Artemis' hand to boulders large enough to sit on. They weren't arranged in a perfect circle, but rather were scattered in the general shape of one. The natural looking formation was at the top of the slight swell of a hill, and there was no vegetation within the circle, but still, the location looked unremarkable.

_If it is a place to teleport inside the tower a hundred and fifty feet away, then it's perfectly disguised,_ Artemis thought, creeping behind Jarlaxle.

"There is no entrance on the tower itself," Jarlaxle whispered. "Anyone hoping to get in will have to come in via the circle of stones."

"What if some creature or a wanderer comes through the circle by accident?" Artemis asked, frowning.

Jarlaxle chuckled quietly, shaking his head in admiration. "That is where the safeguard comes in. If the person or creature within the circle doesn't say the command word, the teleporting magic will not be activated."

"And we have the word?"

Jarlaxle tapped his head innocently.

"You better hope this works," Artemis muttered. "We didn't come out here just to go all the way back."

Jarlaxle spoke the magical word. Artemis could hear him, but the word had a strange, vibrating life of its own. As hard as Artemis tried to grasp what was said, the incantation resisted memory.

He felt a lurch in his stomach as they were forcibly yanked from the circle of stones to another location.

When next Artemis could see, they were in a dark stone room lit only by weak candles. It opened without barriers into a hallway of similar dark stone, lit by sconce torches.

Both of them drew their weapons instantly upon the appearance of a caped figure walking into the light.

The figure reached for his ring as if to turn it – a common way of activating a ring's magic.

Artemis threw a dagger with deadly precision and cut the man's finger off.

He let out a roar of pain and clutched the bleeding stump, then raised his other hand and unleashed a cone of fire at them.

Jarlaxle shot out his arm, an exclamation dying on his lips. Artemis was already diving behind the drow mercenary.

The flames hit Jarlaxle's body and disappeared, saving them both due to Jarlaxle's fire ring.

The moment the flames dissipated, Jarlaxle lunged forward, attacking in a blur of swashbuckling blades. The extending daggers had become twin longswords faster than the eye could see.

The man opened his mouth in a shout, staggering back. That was all he could do, for he was unarmed, other than his apparent magical training. His yell was cut off by Jarlaxle, who dropped a sphere of silence over them. The magic user fell under Jarlaxle's assault.

_We were almost exposed,_ Jarlaxle said to Artemis in drow hand code.

Artemis frowned at him. Rather than concern, he saw excitement on Jarlaxle's face. He stalked over and picked his dagger up off the floor. He wiped the blood off on the dead man's cape and hid it upon his person again. He signaled to the drow without looking at him. _Let's go. _

The hallway was quiet and deserted, but Artemis felt a tingling sensation on his skin that made him sure they could be discovered again at any moment.

"Your hat," Jarlaxle whispered in suggestion, taking hold of his own hat's brim and tugging it down as an example. The drow disappeared before Entreri's eyes.

Artemis mentally shook himself and put on the bolero he'd forgotten was strapped to his back underneath his cape. He tipped the brim as Jarlaxle had demonstrated and felt an icy wave across his body as he, too, turned invisible. He reached out and located Jarlaxle by touch.

He felt the invisible drow's arm twitch in surprise at the touch, and then relax. He had the impression that Jarlaxle was smiling at him, somehow, even without seeing his friend's face. They kept close enough to each other that Jarlaxle's rainbow cape periodically brushed against Artemis' fingers. It would not be a good idea to let themselves become separated in a situation like this.

The torch-lit stone hallway emerged into a small, square room with racks of wine on either side of them. The floor was clean, but there was a light coating of dust on the bottles. Artemis fell Jarlaxle nudge him, and then heard a slight chuckle.

Artemis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. No doubt Jarlaxle was thinking of sampling Tandy's wine cellar after they got done with killing her. He gave Jarlaxle a light push in response, not a true rebuttal, but an indication of impatience to get this over with. The longer they took, the more likely they'd be forced to fight again before reaching the sorceress.

Jarlaxle took the hint and crept up the small flight of stairs leading to the cellar door. Apparently seeing no lock and no traps, he swung the door open after dropping another sphere of silence to defeat any squeaking hinges.

They emerged into a vast hallway with a pink-and-blue-veined marble floor and walls. Artemis bumped into Jarlaxle's back. The drow was standing there, savoring the richness before them. Statues of human women in many different poses lined the corridor. Rich rugs embroidered in gold had been lain down on the floor every fifteen feet or so, and the hallway was lit by tall, ornately wrought golden lamps. Oil-fed flame flickered inside of fluted glass.

Artemis heard a faint sound, and after a pause, Jarlaxle started moving again. He followed the drow as he crept up the hall to the right.

The hallway seemed endless, but they finally reached a curving stairway of grandiose proportions, decorated by a carved ivory banister. Hardly needing an indication from Jarlaxle, Artemis began his ascent. They walked beside each other, making sure that neither slipped on the polished steps nor made a noise. There was room for ten people to walk side by side down the stairs, and the fortress tower was deathly silent around them.

_For all her display of wealth,_ Artemis thought, _she seems to be short-handed in completing her vision. Whatever that is. _

The second floor was decorated much as the first. Statues of women and rich rugs. The difference here was that tapestries hung on the wall. Some depicted green dragons facing a mysterious, robed figure in a forest clearing. Others depicted dancing creatures humanoid in shape, but with hair like leaves and arms that tapered down into tree branches. Artemis found these images deeply unsettling. Still another tapestry showed a crowd of people humbly bowing to an enormous silver oak tree.

They heard the sound of steps coming from down the corridor to their right. It sounded sharp, the report of women's shoes or hard-heeled boots.

Jarlaxle and Artemis froze and backed away, hiding behind one of the feminine statues.

A young woman clad in a high-collared white dress and apron walked past them obliviously, carrying a tea set on a silver tray. Her hair was coifed and gathered into a knot at the back of her head.

Artemis felt the jeweled dagger in his hand and watched her. If she weren't carrying something that would make a lot of noise when it fell, he would have snagged her as she walked by and interrogated her. However, her appearance had already given him some information. The woman was a blonde, blue-eyed Northerner. Either Tandy liked having exotic servants, or the sorceress was herself from the North.

Jarlaxle nudged him, presumably to point out the same thing.

_If Tandy is from the North,_ Artemis wanted to tell him, _it's hopeless trying to negotiate with her. The wealthy of the north view people in this region as no more than savages. It's better if we kill her outright before a word has passed from her mouth to our ears. _However, they were now in close proximity to the people that lived in this tower, as evidenced by the maid. He couldn't risk opening his mouth and giving them both away.

Jarlaxle tugged on him and then led the way out from behind the statue, towards the direction the maid had come from.

At the end of the hallway, they were forced to consider three mahogany doors. Two were side by side on the same wall, and one was to their left. Jarlaxle stopped, then finally chose one of the two doors in front of them. He pushed it lightly. It opened on silent hinges to reveal a bedroom and sitting room.

A woman with long, curly red hair sat on a stool, gathering her hair in one hand and looking over her shoulder awkwardly. She wore a ruffled white dress that complimented her fair skin, but on the four poster bed by the window was a pair leggings and a leather jerkin. "Miranda?"

Jarlaxle withdrew quickly and yanked Artemis out of the way, even though they were invisible.

The assassin felt adrenaline tingling through him. This was it. This was exactly the situation he had been trained for his entire life. Disguised by magic until it was too late, all he had to do was sneak up behind the sorceress – and who else could it be? – and deliver a killing blow with his jeweled dagger while she was vulnerable.

Jarlaxle gently tapped his wrist two times, and Artemis knew that was his signal to go ahead and enter the room.

Artemis crept on silent feet into the room. The carpet had a deep, soft pile, and the room was so neat that he had plenty of space to come up behind the woman sitting on the stool without disturbing a thing.

He tensed, holding his breath, and then drew his dagger. He stabbed for her exposed neck, breaking the invisibility spell.

The dagger ricocheted off her pale, sensitive skin. He instantly jumped back.

"Stoneskin!" The warning burst from Artemis' lips before he could think.

The woman whirled to her feet, brown eyes blazing with fury, and unleashed a slew of magic missiles at him. "Interlopers!"

He defended himself with his magic glove, backed against the wall, and then Jarlaxle burst into the room, daggers flying.

Entreri barely fended the magic missile attacks off, and lunged into battle, drawing Charon's Claw. Black ash hung in the air and stayed there, turning the pristine room into a confusing maze of soot and violence.

The sorceress gave a shout, and thick vines sprouted from the floor, thrashing wildly and grabbing onto anything that was there. Artemis could hear Jarlaxle's curses of frustration even as he struggled to hack the vines away from his leg and keep them from latching onto him further.

Artemis jumped aside just in time to avoid a blast of frost shooting through the ash. He decided it was time to rejoin Jarlaxle, or the mad drow would likely mow him down with his spells. He burst through a thick wall of ash to find Jarlaxle and Tandy engaged in a duel. Alarmed, he backed out of the way. He couldn't help Jarlaxle without being injured in the crossfire.

Jarlaxle whipped out another wand and spoke a command word – and Tandy spoke the same. Acid arrows collided with each other midair and exploded into sickly sparkles, defeated by each other.

Jarlaxle drew a different wand. Tandy was still chanting.

Bolts of electricity crackled through the air at the drow before he could say the command word.

Artemis shouted involuntarily and shielded his eyes as the lightning impacted.

Jarlaxle was thrown against the four poster bed, narrowly missing one of the posts. Amazingly, he laughed. Before Artemis could strike at the sorceress, Jarlaxle leaped up and unleashed the power of his wand.

The wand summoned a monstrous wind full of hailstones. Tandy shielded herself with her arms. Artemis saw Jarlaxle's strategy- he was now wearing down the stoneskin spell.

There was a break in Jarlaxle's spell-hurling. On cue, Artemis lunged for the sorceress, stabbing her again and again before she could recover from Jarlaxle's spell, hoping to break through her protections.

With a roar, she whirled on him and shoved her hand in his face. He recoiled, thinking she had tried to catch him point blank with a spell, and turned just in time to see an enormous glowing hand.

It hit him.

He had a stunned moment to register that he was flying weightlessly through the air before the wall slammed into him. He fell to the floor, at least one bone broken and all the air crushed from his lungs by the impact. He watched dazedly as Jarlaxle continued to fight the enraged sorceress, his vision fading in and out.

Move, he told his hand. Miraculously, he was still holding Charon's Claw.

His hand wouldn't move.

Move, he told it again. He felt a faint twitch. He forced himself to concentrate on getting up. He had to get up. There was no way he was going to allow Jarlaxle to fight Tandy by himself.

He got onto one knee successfully, and then vomited.

Neither Tandy nor Jarlaxle seemed to take any notice. They were still locked in their struggle.

Artemis forced himself to his feet. _No…giant…hand…is going…to defeat me._ He clenched his teeth and ran back into the battle, avoiding one of Jarlaxle's flying daggers.

The sequence of events was a blur to Artemis. One moment he was hacking away at Tandy's stoneskin spell, the next Jarlaxle cried out in victory, and Tandy had a cut on her cheek.

For one moment frozen in time, Artemis thought this was a good thing. They had worn her down.

Just as he and Jarlaxle both prepared to slaughter her, she scrambled backwards, screaming the words of a spell. Then she tumbled out of the open window.

Jarlaxle and Artemis both jerked to a stop in shock.

Then an ominous, crackling mist swirled around them, and parted to reveal a hideous monster.

Jarlaxle grabbed Artemis and ran.

"What are you doing?" Artemis roared through his pain. The arm Jarlaxle was crushing in his grip was most likely broken.

The animal, a squat, scaled thing with wings vaguely resembling a dragon chased them, flapping its wings but unable to get off the ground.

"We didn't come here to fight monsters!" Jarlaxle yelled. "We came to kill the sorceress! If she's killed herself, we may as well get out of here while we're still alive!"

Artemis found he couldn't argue with that logic.

They reached the stairway. Instead of running down it, Jarlaxle jumped, using his levitation to sail over the stairs. Artemis yelped and grabbed a hold of him. The moment their feet touched down, they were running again.

"Back to the teleportation chamber!" Jarlaxle yelled.

Then an enormous crash came from directly behind them. They turned and saw an enormous glass ball spinning down the hall towards them.

Jarlaxle's eyes darted along the corridor. "Or not." He took off like a shot, and this time, Artemis hardly had to be dragged.

"This way!" Jarlaxle yelled.

"Are you sure?"

"This way!"

The ominous boom of glass rolling on polished tile echoed through the vast hall around them. They saw it at the same time – a narrow offshoot from the main walkway.

The giant glass ball skidded after them as they dived into the narrow corridor. It crashed, wedging itself in the undersized archway. Jarlaxle stumbled, ears ringing from the noise, but scrambled to his feet. They didn't look back. The closed doors of the servants' quarters were a passing blur on either side of them.

When they turned around the corner, they were in another immense hallway.

"What do we do now?" Artemis shouted.

"I have the map of this interior," Jarlaxle yelled back. "I'll find a way to get back to the teleportation room."

The assassin looked from one end of the hall to the other. It was deserted, and not full of doors – the way the other hallway had been.

Artemis only had a split second's warning from the deepest corner of his senses. He only had time to skid to a halt, boot soles screeching against the polished floor. "Trap!"

Jarlaxle was already past him.

Artemis reached for him…a second too late.

The look of shock on Jarlaxle's face was burned into Artemis' mind as the unmistakable click of a trap being set off echoed off the walls.

There was no pressure panel. A blinding flare that left spots dancing in Artemis' eyes disappeared as fast as it came. Jarlaxle fell.

The sickening crack echoed in Artemis' ears.

Objects spewed forth from Jarlaxle's hat, flying out with the force of a hurricane. His unconscious body was battered from all directions before he even hit the floor.

"Jar –"

Artemis shielded himself as the wands on Jarlaxle's belt exploded. Tentacles of ice shot up with a frigid burst of wind and wrapped around Jarlaxle's legs, freezing solid and clear. Fire splattered like hot fat and caught on anything flammable. Jarlaxle lay untouched and frozen from the waist down in the burning wreckage of magical items, and expensive carpet. Bright green acid popped and sizzled. Artemis dove behind a statue of a naked woman, and smelled the tips of a few strands of hair burning. He sliced them off with his dagger and avoided it when it fell. When he came out, the statue's face was marred beyond recognition, and Jarlaxle was covered in smoking black pinholes. One burned away on his cheek.

Artemis tried to approach Jarlaxle for a second time.

Two swordsmen came running around the corner of the hall, boot soles cracking against the tiles.

In the second that Artemis froze, they both dove into an attack on him.

His hand moved as if of its own volition, jerking instinctively, and the two men lay dying at his feet.

He swallowed.

"Jarlaxle."

Jarlaxle didn't get up. The pinhole on his cheek was devouring deeper and deeper. It was boring through to the inside of his mouth.

Artemis couldn't imagine how much that hurt. He tore his eyes away to look around him at the devastation in the hallway. The bright sunlight of open land penetrated through a crack in the doors to his left. His escape.

He looked back to Jarlaxle. A trickle of blood traveling down Jarlaxle's scalp jumped out at him. He stared at it. Again, he couldn't look away. He didn't know why he would care, and why the sight of the oozing blood scared him. It disturbed him, seeing that blood on Jarlaxle's normally pristine, bald head.

Time moved so slowly that Artemis almost felt it was frozen. He knew, his instincts screamed, that he didn't have any time to stand around and gawk at his dead partner's body. _Damnit, if you're so caught up in staring at him, take him with you!_

He turned towards the exit, and then bent down, reaching for Jarlaxle's arm. It felt as if it were two miles through paste to the floor. He closed his hand around Jarlaxle's wrist and straightened, lifting him and the dead weight of ice encasing his lower body.

The sound of clapping reached his ears. It was a purposeful, sarcastic sound like thunder. Tandy stood in the hallway. There was no hint of softness in her expression.

"You make lousy mercenaries, but you make entertaining jesters," Tandy said. She looked down at Jarlaxle's body. "What should I do with you now that I've captured you?"

"Us." Artemis tried to get the tightness out of his throat by clearing it.

Tandy raised an eyebrow at him. "I doubt your talkative friend will survive a crushing blow like that."

"Then save him."

The sorceress' face froze. It seemed she had not considered this.

Artemis hadn't considered it either. He didn't know what he was saying. "We've slaughtered many of your operatives. Perhaps if we can do such a feat so easily, you would do well to use us to replace your depleted forces."

She laughed in seeming surprise and delight. "Why, I hadn't marked you for such a sharp bargainer. It was your friend, after all, who chose to do the talking. Perhaps your idea of fighting me outright would have saved you from this." She gestured at the fallen drow mercenary.

Artemis felt numb. "Then it's a deal?"

She shrugged carelessly. "My plans have been going too smoothly of late. I like a little excitement."

Artemis looked down at the unconscious Jarlaxle. "It's a deal."

"It's a deal, it's a deal," she said. She looked down at Jarlaxle in mild disgust. "I suppose I had better clean up this mess if I want him to survive. Pity I can't just leave him there."

_If only Jarlaxle could hear this now,_ Artemis thought. _Then he'd rethink his position on women. _He shook his head. _He tried to charm a block of ice. It's no wonder that he's lying on the floor now. _

He watched the ice slowly melting away from Jarlaxle's legs and wondered why the worry in the forefront of his mind was whether Jarlaxle would blame him for this turn of events. He'd just signed over his soul to someone he intended to kill.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

-----------------------------

It was days since their weapons and equipment had been taken away, days since they had been given two generous rooms side-by-side in the palatial interior of Tandy's towers, days since Jarlaxle had been placed in a warm bed to recover from his head trauma…and days since Artemis had eaten or slept.

He had tried to sleep, and tried to eat. He couldn't.

Feelings of danger kept waking him up every five minutes, if he managed to stay asleep for that long, and he was compelled by a feeling he didn't understand to go to Jarlaxle's bedside and watch him from a chair. Inevitably, he would pass out from exhaustion there, only to wake up the next morning with a terrible taste in his mouth and the conviction that he hadn't slept at all. The blonde and blue-eyed Miranda, who turned out to be the maidservant of the entire tower, periodically deposited food and water in his room and in Jarlaxle's, but she never said a word. She took back Entreri's portion to the kitchen untouched most of the time.

Artemis force fed Jarlaxle soup and water every day, but found it difficult, since the drow had lived in paranoia for so long. Even unconscious and mostly dead, Jarlaxle fought him. Artemis relented more often than not because he feared subduing Jarlaxle would only injure him more severely.

He was left surrounded by enough food for two, and to him, it was tasteless, texture-less, scentless. He wasn't hungry, and there was no one to force feed him. Tandy certainly didn't care enough. If they died, that would be another way of solving the problem of what to do with her new servants.

So Artemis sat in a finely carved and upholstered chair, looking down at Jarlaxle's expressionless face as the drow still slept. He knew it was late morning only because breakfast was beside him, and it was cold. A Northerner's idea of breakfast: squeezed juice, fried cakes, eggs, and bacon. He couldn't eat it, and Jarlaxle wouldn't. He'd managed to shove two pieces of bacon, a sip of juice, and some pieces of egg down Jarlaxle's throat. The only comfort he derived from the act was that if Jarlaxle still struggled, it meant he was still alive.

The assassin sighed. Stubble grew on Jarlaxle's head, and was just barely long enough now to start forming little silver curls. Jarlaxle. With curly hair. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd stared at every detail of Jarlaxle and the bed the drow was lying in, but now he examined it again, constantly having to force himself to stay alert. The cream comforter had tiny flowers printed on it, and the sheets and pillow were silk. Jarlaxle's pitch black skin stood out harshly against the bed, making him look like a strange, displaced creature.

Artemis passed a hand over his eyes. Well, maybe he was. Maybe things would have turned out for the better if Jarlaxle had stayed in the Underdark. In Menzoberranzan. In gender-based slavery.

"Alright, so I'm glad you came," Artemis murmured. "Will you just wake up and say something to me? I'm tired of sitting here watching you not move."

He almost fell off his chair at the sound of a weak chuckle.

Jarlaxle shifted minutely under the covers, eyelids flickering but not opening. "I'm sorry." He coughed, a wretched, dry sound. "I must have been very boring."

"I…" Suddenly, Artemis found himself at a loss for words. His throat was closing up, and a pulsing pain beat behind his eyes. He didn't know what to say. He fumbled, and came up with Jarlaxle's hand. "Don't…Don't do that again."

Jarlaxle laughed, and almost coughed again.

Entreri hastily let go of his hand and poured Jarlaxle a glass of orange juice from the pitcher.

Jarlaxle reached for it, but when he cupped his hand around the glass, his fingers were trembling violently. He hesitated. "I…I need…um…"

Artemis held onto the glass and brought it to his lips slowly, letting Jarlaxle guide with his hand. Artemis helped him sit up, and held the glass while Jarlaxle drank.

Jarlaxle let his fingers slide off of the glass. He looked away, and Artemis suddenly realized he was ashamed. Ashamed of his condition. Ashamed of the fact that he'd been so severely injured, but not killed.

"I don't care that you're weak right now," Artemis snapped.

Jarlaxle looked at him, startled. His mouth was open, but nothing came out. Then he began to tremble. "A – Artemis?"

The assassin let his glare soften at that reaction. He'd never seen Jarlaxle this way. Jarlaxle had always been untouchable, invincible, smugly victorious. Now he'd actually made Jarlaxle tremble. Jarlaxle was hurt. "Look at you…You look terrible."

Jarlaxle let out a startled little laugh. "Is that supposed to boost my confidence?"

"No, it's supposed to explain to you that you're laid up because you need to be," Artemis said. "You carried around so much miscellaneous garbage in your hat that you almost beat yourself to death with it when your hat exploded."

"My hat exploded?" Jarlaxle asked.

Entreri rolled his eyes. "I'll get you a new one."

Jarlaxle snorted. "If we ever get out of here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Artemis asked. He should have expected pessimism from him. Somehow, he never thought he'd hear such a thing from Jarlaxle's mouth.

"We're captured," Jarlaxle said, passing a hand over his head and wincing. "We're in the House of a sorceress, and she's powerful enough to recover from what we did to her and catch up to us."

'_House'?_ Artemis blinked. Either Jarlaxle was not fully conscious, or he needed his translating whistle more than Artemis thought.

There was a pause. Jarlaxle looked up at Artemis with a naked expression of pleading. "Tell me…Was there no chance of escape?"

Artemis paused. He remembered the door that should not have been there –the door with sunlight streaming around the cracks. Then he looked directly into Jarlaxle's eyes. "None."

It was a lie, but it was one Artemis was willing to say. Jarlaxle wouldn't understand the truth, and Artemis wasn't really sure he did either.

Jarlaxle settled back down and looked at the fine china on the end table. "If there were, you would have taken it," he said softly.

"Perhaps."

Jarlaxle smiled at him. "Perhaps?"

Artemis shrugged. He smiled himself, and then looked away. "Perhaps," he agreed.

"Why? What else would you have done?"

Another shrug. "Maybe I would have stayed by your corpse."

Jarlaxle shook his head and laughed. "Right."

Artemis' smile faded. He wished he could share his moment of indecision with Jarlaxle. He also wished that he had no secret to get off his chest and he could just smirk and agree with the mercenary.

He forced himself to say the right thing. "You're not _that_ important."

He watched Jarlaxle's face… And Artemis wondered why he was disappointed when his lie went over so smoothly not even Jarlaxle could detect it.


End file.
